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BRtNTANOS'LITERAP''
"30 iirjio-: >inilAK.~.
i
:- 1
J
>K 1
tOmA
5
CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
HEB LETTEES AKD MEMOETES
OF HEB UFE.
XDITXD B7 BBB VBJXSDf
EMMA STEBBINS.
x*>
"Th$myidUiiihernaHmrn2m,andUU¥yid»rihanipace,6ld^
UfulteorTH. Th^yoftnot^Mtwho p%Ue(h<Ml^ eoT<maUonrobu,and
gom Ommgh itniwrtcU lorn to wifagrwl ixxotr. ** ^ Kimtaow.
BOSTON:
HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY.
(^ Btendltt JPmi, Cmlcaii.
1878.
J
GOPTBIOBT, 1878.
Bt HOUGHTON. OSGOOD AND COMFANT.
AU rights retetved.
UmvM t M ' ir Puss: Wbx£h, BiGBLOfW, & Co,
Cahbkidgi.
^i\/^.
TO
TEE DBAHAnC PBOFESSION,
WHICH HISS CUSHMAN L07ED AND HONORED,
TO WHICH SHB GAVE THX BTUDT OF HIR LIFB AND THE LOYAL
DEVOTION OF HER OBEAT POWERS, TO WHICH SHE HAS
LEFT IN HSR EXAMPLE A NOBLE AND
IMPERISHABLE REMEMBRANCE,
Cfjis boltime to usptttMln tietilcateir*
^Mo^
(«*•
cf^^
\ -.
/ r
(T-
K
k
tflWB^^
791557
TABLE OF OOlsrTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
1S80. 1B3K.
Qflnealagic*! Sketch of the Caibm&Q Family. Bobert Cnehwin : hii
Serrices to the Colony ; hia Semum ; hie Son Thomw Ciulunaii ;
hi> Death. — Honorable Mention of Botk — KlVnn.t. Ciuhiiuii.
— The Babbit F&mily. — Anceston on the Maternal Side. — The
Gift of Imitation hereditary. — UiM Ciuhman's cmIj Bemeni*
brancea ; early Gifta. — Uodc » Pisuon. — Firat Play. — Sndden
Birth of the Dnunatia Instinct. — Family Miafortniies. — Study of
Hmic ai a PToIeaaion. — Practice in Chnich Chirira. — Introdoc-
tion to Htb. Wood. — First Appeamnce on the Stage ai CoaniVM
AlmaTira. — Goes to New Orleana, — Losa of Voice. — Detennina-
tion to act —Firat Appearance aa Lady Hacbetli. — Bnceeia. —
Methods of Study 1-21
CHAPTER II.
Betnin to New York. — EngRgement to act at the Bowery Theatre.
— lUuoa. — Soccearful Firet Appearance. — Btmiing of the The-
atre ; Lon of Wardrobe. — Engagement in Albany. — Death of
her young Brother. — Engagement at Park Theatre, New York. —
Three Yean' hard Work aa " Walking Lady." — Impreaiiona of
her at that Ticae. — Acting with Macready. — Undertakea Manage-
ment of Walnnt Street Theatre, Philadelphia. — Dr. I^rdner. —
CoUey Qnttan. — Sallie Mercer. — Sails for England. — Ooea to
Sootlaud ; to Paris. — Uokes Engagement to act in Loudon . 25-44
VI TABLE OF CONTENXa
CHAPTER III.
1845-1846.
Firat Appearance in London. — Fazio. — Letters to her Mother. —
Great Saccees. — Social Triumphs. — Newspaper Notices of the
Time. — Bianca, Bosalind, Mrs. Haller, Beatrice, etc. — Tour in
the Provinces. — Continued Success. — Second Engagement in
London. — Romeo and Juliet — Newspaper Notices. — Letters
from Sheridan Knowles. — Dublin Audiences. — Irish Stories 47 - 67
CHAPTER IV.
1847-184a
Bomeo and Juliet in the Provinces. — Visit to Paris. — Letters of
H. F. Chorley. — Macready's FarewelL — The Duke of Devonshire.
Letters of Miss Jewsbury. — Her Remembrances. — Miss Cush-
man*s Letters to a Young Friend. — Mrs. Carlyle . . 68-85
CHAPTER V.
1848-1864;
Early Dajs in England. — A Friend's Memories. — Singing in So-
ciety. — (Recitations. — Her Sister's Marriage. — Sails for America.
— Acts throughout the Country. — Successful Engagements. —
Crosses the Ocean to see a sick Friend. — Returns to the States.
—Again crosses the Ocean. — Seaforth HaU. — Isle of Wight —
First Visit to Rome. — Page's Portrait —Paul Akers. — Other
Portraits. — Naples. — Florence. — Paris. — Return to England.
— Malvern. — Acting in London. — House in Bolton Row. —
May-fair Dinner to Ristori. — Miss Cushman's Diary. — Record of
1855-1857.— Second Visit to Rome 86-110
CHAPTER VI.
1858-1869;
Acting in the States. — Return to England. — Summer Excnrsiona.
Rome. — 88 Via Gregoriana. — First Evening Reception. — De-
scription of the Roman Home ; its Aspect without and within.
— The Italian Servants; their Peculiarities.— The Cook.— The
TABLE OF CONTENTS. VU
Major damo. — " The Principe." — The Portreaa. —The Dogs. —
The Horses. — The Birds. — The Campagna. — The Aqaedncts.
— The Rides. — The Hunt — Shepherd Dogs. — Oxen. — Dangers
of the Campagna. — The Spring. — ^The Flowers. — The Excaya-
tions. — New Discoyeries. — A Friend's Memories . . Ill - li2
CHAPTER VII.
Miss Coshman behind the Scenes. — The Drama ; its Shortcomings;
its Excellences ; its Opportunities. — Incident in Chicago. — Re*
membrances of M^ Merrilies ; First Assumption of the Part ; Mr.
Braham; The "Make-up"; The Costume; The Finale. — De-
mand for the '* Sticks." — Disposition of the Reading-Table and
Chair. — Nancy Sykes. — Letter on Charity and Actors 148 - 168
CHAPTER VIII.
1869-1862.
Death of her Sister. — Excursion in Wales. — Winter in Rome. —
Theodore Parker. — Bust modelled. — Sails for New York. — Acts
for Dramatic Fund. — Acts in chief Cities. — Visits Mr. Seward
in Washington. — Returns to England. — Letters of 1861. — Isle
of Wight — Letters. — Paris. — Visit to Rosa Bonheur's Studio.
— French Theatres. — George Sand. — Love for Children. — Let-
ter upon the Sacredness of the Maternal Trust — Rome and the
Roman Climate ; Letters on this Subject — Letters on the North-
em Successes. — Return to Rome. — Spezzia. — Mrs. Somenrille.
— Letters on Religious Subjects 159-180
CHAPTER IX.
1861-1867.
Letters. — Roman Winters. — In 1868 returns to the States to act
for the Sanitary Commission. •— Acts in New York, Philadelphia^
Baltimore, Washington, and Boston for this Purpose. — Letter to
Dr. Bellows ; his Reply. — Presentation of Album from Great Cen-
tral Fair. — Reads the Ode on the Inauguration of the Great Organ
in Music Hall, Boston. —Sails for Liverpool — Rome. — Letters.
Excursion to Naples. — Letters. — En^and. — Harrowgate. — Let-
ters. — Rome. — Letters. — Summoned to England to her Mother's
Death-bed. — Presentation of Alti Rilievi to Music Hall, and De-
scription of them 181-210
VUl TABLE OF COKTENTa
CHAPTER X.
Dnmatio BeadingB. Providenoe : Henry YIII.» Macbeth, Hamlet^
Cardinal Wolaej. — Hiunoroaa Characters in Shakespeare. —
Readings : Emotional, Heroic, Humorous, LyiicaL — The Skeleton
in Armor. — Battle of Ivry. — Rervi BieL — Dialect Poems. —
Death of the Old Sqtdre. — Bums. — Miss Maloney. — '* Betsy
and I axe oat," et& « 218 - 228
CHAPTER XI.
1869-1874.
First Appearance of the Fatal Malady. — Rome. — Gtoes to Paris for
Advice. — Dr. Sims. — England. — Sir James Paget. — Malvern.
Edinburgh. — Sir James Simpson. — Operation decided on ; takes
place. — Long and serious Illness. — Supposed Recovery. — Re-
turns to Rome. — Reappearance of the Disease. — Returns to Eng-
land. — Submits to Second Operation. — Recovers for a Time. —
Return of Unfavorable Symptoms. — Decides to return to America.
— Roman Home broken up. — Builds Villa at Newport — By
Advice of Physicians, returns to the Stage. — Acts in New York ;
in Boston. — School-house named for her. — Extracts from Let-
ters of these Tears. — Acting and Reading in Various Places. —
Letters.— Illness in Baltimore 229-257
CHAPTER XII.
Farewell to the Stage in New York. — The Ovation. — The Ode. —
The Speeches. — Letters. —Farewell to Philadelphia. — Readings.
— Illness in CincinnatL — Recovery. — Readings. — Acting in
the West — Illness in St Louis. — Reading in Philadelphia. —
RistorL— Farewell to Bost^ 258-275
CHAPTER XIII.
1875-1876.
Last Winter in Boston. — Courage and Sustalnment — Daily Let-
ters. — Fears and Hopes. — Preparations for Death. — Description
of her Surroundings. — Unexpectedness of her Death. — Funeral
Ceremonies. — Mount Auburn ....•• 276-286
CHAPTER XIV.
Tributes to her Memory »•••••• 287-808
>.^S»2v,
UST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
POBTBAIT OV Miss CuSHHAN FmUUpitee.
Miss Stibbins'b Bust of Miss Cushkan •
Fkge
. 161
Miss Cushhazv's Villa, Newpobt, B. I.
• • •
244
vy^^*'^
CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
HER LirE. LETTERS, AND MEMORIES.
CHAPTER I.
" Good nms In inin or womu
I* the immtllrtj j«w«l of tholr ■ouk."
OaeOa.
rS Btoiy of the first Bettlers of Now England —
of that small band of devoted men and women
who left their native land and subjected them-
selves iritli nnshaken constancy and conr^ to the perils
and dangers and privations of the 'wilderness, seeloDg
only the privily of worshipping God according to their
own consciences — is too well known to need mnch re-
capitulation here. It is, as it should be, a household
word ; it is one of the worthiest boasts of the nation,
that in this transplantation to the shores of the New
World its chief or tap root struck deep down, — the noble
and true Puritan element, compounded of the best quali-
ties of any race, — earnestness, sincerity, and thorongb
conscientiousness.
3 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAK :
Among the men who first conceived, and afterwards
carried out, this plan of emigration to America for con-
science' sake, Bobert Cushman, the ancestor of Charlotte
Cushman, holds an honored and honorable place.
To interpret justly a noble character, it becomes neces-
sary to search out all its springs of action, to follow up
and grasp carefully the subtle links which bind it to the
past, have swayed it through life, and still stretch onward
through influence and example into the illimitable futura
The antecedents of such a character as that of Miss Cush-
man, even as far back as we can trace them, cannot but be
of importance and interest, not only to those who loved
her as few have ever been loved, but to that large pub-
lic who knew her only in her work, but over whom she
held the sway of a master-spirit, and between whom and
herself existed the never-failing attraction of a powerful
and magnetic sympathy. I therefore recur briefly to such
records as I have at my command concerning the two
honorable families firom whom she has descended, — the
Cushmans and Babbits of New England. Bobert Cush-
man,* the founder of the fieanily in this country, was an
Englishman, a Nonconformist or Puritan, one of the origi-
nal band of Pilgrims, and a trusted and esteemed leader
among them, who first emigrated to Leyden, in Hol-
land, "having heard that there they could find freedom of
religion for all mea" At Leyden, after a peaceful resi-
dence of some years, they b^an to agitate the question of
emigration to America, a project in which Bobert Cush-
man took a deep interest He was selected, in company
with Deacon John Carver, to go to England and open
negotiations with a company which had been formed
under the royal sanction, called the Virginia Company,
* Born 1580 or 1586; exact d«te not known.
HER LIFE, LETTEE89 AND 1IEH0RIE& 3
" for liberty to settle on the company's territoiy in North
America.'' But their chief object, then and always, was
to secuie &om the king the gift of liberty of conscience
there. These n^tiations did not prove very successful ;
all the favor they could obtain was the king's gracious
permission for them to go, and his promise to connive at
them, and not molest them; but his public authority^
under his seal, could not be granted.
Three journeys from Leyden to England were made on
this mission, always urging their great point, '' freedom to
worship €rod," and never either dismayed or discouraged by
their want of success. At length, findii^ they coidd only
obtain a sort of compromise, which permitted them, " so long
as they remained faithful subjects of his Majesty," to be
tolerated in their form of worship, which was neverthe>
less declared to be essentially unsound and heretical,
they finally deteimined to emigrate without further delay
or preamble, and take the future into their own handa
Bobert Cushman and Elder Brewster, being then appointed
financiers and managers of the afTairs of the "Adven-
turers," as they were called in England, procured for
them two ships, the Speedwell, a vessel of only sixty tons
burden, and the famous Mayflower, a little laiger. These
two vessels sailed in company from Southampton on the
6th of August, 1620, Bobert Cushman and fiEtmily sailing
with them.
A series of disasters, owing to the unseaworthy condi-
tion of the Speedwell, obliged them to put back into port
twice, and ddayed the final departure until Wednesday,
September 6, 1620, when the Mayfiower sailed with only
a portion of the company, the vessel not being large
enough to accommodate tiiem all ; among those who re-
mained behind was Bobert Cushman, it being considered
moie important that he should remain, as financier and
4 CHABLOTTE CUBHMAK :
agent at Leyden, to look after the interests of the colony,
and send them out supplies and necessaries.
During the following year Bobert Cushman published
an able pamphlet on Emigration to America, urging the
advantages of settling in that coimtry, and on the return
of the Mayflower, with favorable accounts of the establish-
ment of ttxe colony at New Plymouth he made his ar-
rangements to join them, with otheis who had been left
behind. Early in July he sailed for New England in the
Fortune, a small vessel of fifty-five tons, taking with him
his only son, Thomas, whom, on his return to England,
he left behind him in the family of the first colonial gov-
ernor, Bradford. He returned, still acting in the interests
of the colonists, and before leaving delivered an able ser-
mon or address to the Pilgrims, since quite noted as the
first sermon delivered and printed in New England.
On one of Miss Cushman's professional visits to Boston
Theodore Parker brought her a copy of this sermon, which
was first published in London in 1622, the year after its
delivery, and afterwards reprinted in Boston in 1724.
Various other editions were printed in 1780, 1815, 1822,
and 1826. Mr. Cushman continued to act for the colony
up to the time of his death, which took place in April,
1626.
In the records of the colony may be found many evi-
dences of the esteem and consideration in which he was
held, and the loss they felt they had sustained in his
death. Governor Bradford alludes to him as ** the right
hand of the Adventurers, who for divers years has man-
aged all our business with them to our'gi^eat advantage."
He is also spoken of by the Hon. John Davis, Judge of
the United States District Court of Massachusetts, in a
biographical sketch of him, published with an edition of
his sermon in 1785, as ''one of the most distinguished
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MBHOBIES. 5
characters among the collection of worthies who qtdtted
England on account of their religion, and settled in Ley-
den in 1609. The news of his death and that of Mr.
Bobinson, their pastor in the city of Leyden, were brought
at the same time to Plymouth by Captain Standish, and
they were equally lamented by their bereaved and suffer-
ing friends there. He was zealously engaged in the suc-
cess of the colony, — a man of activity and enterprise,
well versed in business, respectable in point of intellec-
tual abilities, well accomplished in Scriptural knowledge,
an unaffected professor, and a steady, sincere practiser
of religioa"
At a later period (1846) Judge Davis remarked in a
letter to Charles Ewer, Esq., the publisher of a new
edition of Mr. Cushman's sermon: "That discourse is
a precious relic of ancient times ; the sound good sense,
good advice, and pious spirit which it manifests wiU, it
may be hoped, now and in all future time meet with
approval and beneficial acceptance in our community."
Says the venerable Dr. Dwight, formerly President of
Yale College, in a volume of his travels in the United
States, published in 1800, " By me the names of Carver,
Bradford, Cushman, and Standish will never be forgotten
until I lose the power of recollection."
Many other testimonials might be gathered together
here, showing the genuine worth of Bobert Cushman and
the high consideration he enjoyed among his associates ;
but enough has been said to prove Miss Cushman's right
by inheritance to those qualities which lie at the root of
all success, and the possession of which her subsequent
career so fully exemplified.
It will be remembered that Thomas Cushman, the only
son of Bobert, remained with the colony when his father
returned to England, a member of the feonily of Gov-
6 CHABLOTTS CUSHICAN :
emor Bradford. About the year 1635, the record says, he
married Mary Allerton, the third child of Isaac Allerton,
who came over in the Mayflower. In that matrimonial
relation they lived together fifty-five years, she surviv-
ing him nearly ten yeara
In 1649, the office of ruling elder of the church at
Plymouth becoming vacant by the death of Elder Brew-
ster, Thomas Cushman was appointed to that office, and
continued to hold it to the day of his death, a period of
over forty-three yeara He was always the intimate and
confidential friend of Grovemor Bradford, and was the
principal witness to his will.
The first volume of the Records of the First Church at
Plymouth contains the following notice of Elder Cush-
man's death: —
*' 1692. It pleased God to seize upon our good Elder, Mr.
Thomas Cushman, by sickness, and in this year to take him
from us. He was chosen and ordained Elder of this Church,
April 6, 1649 ; he was neare forty-three years in his office; he
had bin a rich blessing to this church scores of years ; he was
grave, sober, holy, and temperate, very studious and solici-
tous for the peace and prosperity of the Church, and to pre-
vent and heal all breaches. He dyed December 11th, neare
the end of the eighty-four yeare of his life. December 16th
was kept as a day of humiliation for his death. Much of God's
presence went away from this church when this blessed Pillar
was removed."
He was buried on the southerly brow of "Burying
Hill," in a very beautiful locality, commanding a full
view of Plymouth harbor, of the town, of the green hills
in the distance, and of the " meeting-house " in which for
more than seventy years he had prayed and worshipped.
The gravestone erected by Plymouth Church twenty-
four years after his death is a plain slab of mica slate
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND HEMORIEa 7
about three and one half feet in height^ and was piobablj
imported from England. It is now in a good state of
preservation, and although it has stood nearly one hun-
dred and forty years, the inscription is yet distinct and
legible. It speaks of him as that "" precious servant of
God." His widow, Mary Allerton, died at ninety, and
was the last survivor of the one hundred who came over
in the Mayflower.
In the seventh generation from Bobert Cushman — dur-
ing which long time a succession of Cushmans, all more
or less honorable, respectable, and some of them distin-
guished, lived and died — Elkanah, the fieither of Charlotte,
makes his appearance.
There are five generations of Elkanahs, after Thomas
Cushman, all bom in Plymouth* and Plympton ; the first
being the second son of the Bev. Isaac Cushman, who
was the son of Thomas, and first minister of the Church
of Christ at Plympton, as his tombstone records. The
fifth Elkanah married Lydia Bradford, who was the great-
granddaughter of William Bradford, second Governor of
Pljrmouth Colony. The sixth Elkanah was one of the
founders of the old Colony Club in 1769. Isaac Lothrop
was President, Thomas Lothrop Secretary, and Elkanah
Cushman Steward. He married Mary Lothrop. The
seventh Elkanah, bom at Plymouth in 1769, married for
second wife Mary Eliza Babbit, and was the father of
Charlotte Saunders Cushman, who was bom in Bichmond
Street, Boston, July 23, 1816.*
He was the son of poor parents in Plymouth, Mas-
sachusetts. Left an orphan at the early age of thirteen,
he walked to Boston to seek his fortune, and obtaining
* I am indebted for the foregoing information concerning the Cash-
man family to a Yoltime of Oenealogical Records gathered together hj
the Hon. Henry W. Coshman, and printed in 1866.
8 CHABLOTTB 0U8HICAK :
there modest employment, by his industry, probity, and
good conduct succeeded in saving a sufficient sum to en-
able him to enter into business on his own account He
was for some years a successful merchant on Long Wharf,
Boston, of the firm of Topliff and Cushmaa From time
to time he sent ventures to the West Indies, and to the
infidelity of those whom he trusted as supercargoes may
be mainly attributed his subsequent fjEulure, and the con-
sequent troubles of the family.
Many of Charlotte Cushman's reminiscences of her
early childhood bore reference to her father's warehouse,
and to her childish happiness when she could escape from
home with her brother Charles and enjoy the freedom
and delight of the wharves. On one of these occasions
fate came within a hair^s-breadth of cutting off very pre-
maturely all the promise which lay stored in her childish
persoa They were amusing themselves by jumping from
the wharf to a vessel which lay close alongside in pro-
cess of loading. After many successfril leaps came an
unlucky one, which fell short, and Charlotte fell between
the vessel and the wharf and sank in the deep waters.
An outciy was raised; a pjwser-by leaped in, rescued
the child, and went his way. Charlotte would tell with
much humor how she was carried in to her father, and
there arrayed in whatever dry garments could be found
on the spur of the moment, which proved to be a pair of
overalls and a large jacket, called a spencer, which were
hurriedly put on her in great trepidation and anxiety.
Arrived at home in this guise, she found her mother
much more disposed to be severe at her escapade than
pitiful over her danger ; and nothing saved her from con-
dign pimishment but symptoms of illness which followed
upon the excitement and exposure. Here the tale seemed
ended ; but long years after came a sequel in the shape of
HEB UFE, LBTTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 9
ft
a very respectable old gentleman, who asked to see her
one day, and modestly informed her that he was the for-
tunate individual who had plucked her out of the water
and saved her for all that had followed, and how hon-
ored and delighted he felt in having been the instru-
ment, etc.
The following brief memoranda of the Babbit family,
the ancestois of Charlotte Cushman on the maternal
side, have been kindly famished me by Mr. Manning
Leonard, of Southbridge, formerly Sturbridge, Massachu-
setts, the native town of the Babbit family, who has made
the collection of these records a labor of love, through
the interest he has found in the subject The first of the
family of whom he makes mention is Dr. Erasmus Babbit,
the second practising physician in Sturbridge, a very
prominent man, of remarkable energy and perseverance.
(These two qualities, which were the most marked traits
in the character of Charlotte Cushman, have descended
to her in a direct line from both sides of her house.) He
married, in 1758, Mrs. Mary (Maxcy) Remington, a daugh-
ter of Colonel Moses Marcy, and widow of Dr. Meshach
Kemington, the first practising physician in Sturbridge.
His second child, Thomas, graduated at Harvard in 1784,
studied medicine with Dr. Wairen, of Boston, and was
the acknowledged head of the profession in New Eng-
land, and probably on this side the Atlantic.
Erasmus Babbit, Jr., his second son and third child, was
bom in 1765, graduated at Harvard in 1770, studied law
and was admitted to the bar in Worcester in 1793, and
married about the same year Mary Saunders, sometimes
spelled Sanders, daughter of the Hon. Thomas Saunders,
Jr., of Gloucester, ^er mother was Lucy Smith, daugh-
ter of Rev. Thomas Smith, a celebrated divine of Fal-
mouth, now Portland, Maine.) This Mary Saunders and
10 CHABLOTTB CU8HMAK:
Erasmus Babbit were the maternal grandparents of Char-
lotte Cnshman.
Erasmus Babbit^ Jr.» was captain of a company in the
army quartered at Oxford, 1788 - 89, under Colonel Na-
than Rice, a native of Sturbridga He is set down as
practising law at various places, as having been remark-
ably fond of music, and having a wonderful memory. It
has been said that he could p^y upon the violin and
sing " from sunrise to sunset" As might be presumed,
his clients were not numerous and his fees "* small''
Their children were : —
Mary Eliza (Charlotte's mother), bom in 1793.
Winthrop .
Augustus .
Among the children of Dr. Erasmus Babbit is one
named Henry, who died at the early age of twenty-
threa He also was a musician, and very much beloved.
His foneral is said to have been one of the largest ever
attended in the town. An interest attaches to him, from
the tradition that Charlotte Saunders, the aunt for whom
Charlotte Cushman was named, was engaged to him, and
never recovered his loss; as is commonly said, ''she
never was the same after." She is remembered as a
woman of culture and refinement^ very modest and retir-
ing, and at times reduse. The oldest memoranda of her
I have in my possession consist of a few letters to her
'' dear Lotty," dated Boston, — sometimes the day of the
month, but no year given ; upon one of these is a memo-
randum in Charlotte Cushman's hand : " From my dear
Aunt Charlotte, 1846." Whether this is the date of the
reception of the letter, or only when the memorandum
was made, is not clear ; but the latter is most likely, as it
is two years after her first journey to England. (This was
the last letter Charlotte Cushman received ; the news of
her death followed.)
HEB LIFE, LBTTEBS, AKD MEMORIES. 11
These letters are chiefly interesting as showing that
even at that early time Charlotte had commenced her
career of thoughtful kindness and care of all who had any
claim npon her sympathy; they are mostly acknowledg-
ments of little gifts, and it is very evident that already
Charlotte is the ruling spirit of the family and the one to
whom they all look up; everything depends upon her
success, her engagements, which are to benefit the whole.
There are allusions to the disasters which befell Mr.
Cushman's business. She is evidently suffering from the
feebleness incident to declining life ; the writing is weak
and tremulous; but there are no complaints, only con-
stant references to the blessings she has about her, and
a general tone which bespeaks a woman of sound mind
and character.
Her sister, Mary Babbit, Jr., as she sometimes wrote
her name, was very different ; fond of company and '' a
good time," never discouraged ; of wonderful powers of
mimicry, she could imitate almost any sound that could
be mada Her .daughter, Mary Eliza, Charlotte Cush-
man's mother, was a good singer, a good scholar, and
reported the best reader in all that region.
There are only certain brief memoranda from Miss
Cushman's own lips taken down at various times during
the last few years ; alas ! too few and brief, for she never
could do anything in cold blood ; she required the social
stimulus, the interest of her listeners, which she never
&iled to control and retain at her pleasure, and she very
soon wearied of mere dictation of facts to an amanuensis ;
beside that, she took singularly little interest in the idea
of posthumous fame or remembrance after her deatL
She often said sadly, "What is or can be the record of an
actress, however famous? They leave nothing behind
them but the vaguest of memories. Ask any number of
12 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
persons to give yon a real picture or positive image of
the effect any great actor produced in his time, and they
can tell you nothing more than that it was fine, it was
grand, it was overwhelming ; but ask them how did he do
such or such a thing, how did he render such a passage ?
describe his manner, his gesture, even his personal ap-
pearance, that we may have a living picture of him, —
and they are at once at a los& It is all gone; passed
away. Now, other artists — poets, painters, sculptors,
musicians— produce something which Uves after them
and enshrines their memories in positive evidences of
their divine mission; but we, — we strut and fret our
hour upon the stage, and then the curtain faUs and all is
darkness and silenca"
Much might be said in answer to this : her whole life
and the honors which have been paid her, the position
she has taken in the mind and heart of her generation, are
sufficient to show that, like all true workers and noble souls,
she had a mission to fulfil much higher and broader than
she ever realized. She " builded better than she knew " ;
and the foundation she laid and the edifice she erected
stands strong and firm,a beacon and an emblem, lighting
and guiding many steps through the tangled and danger-
ous paths of the profession she loved and honored.
The precious memoranda of Charlotte Cushman's earliest
days in Boston open with the following sentence: ''I was
bom a tomboy." In those days this epithet, " tomboy,**
was applied to all little girls who showed the least ten-
dency toward thinking and acting for themselves. It was
the advance-guard of that army of opprobrious epithets
which has since been lavished so freely upon the pioneers
of woman's advancement and for a long time the ugly
little phrase had power to keep the dangerous feminine
element within what was considered to be the due bounds
\
\
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 13
of propriety and decorum. Things which now any young
girl can do as freely as her brother, many of the games
which were considered strictly and exclusively masculine,
are now open to both sexes alike, to the manifest benefit
of the limbs, muscles, and general development of the
future mothers of the race.
But how many years of prejudice have had to be slowly
undermined and done away before this good could be
accomplished, and how much the unwise restraint must
have pressed upon this great, strong, free nature, is evi-
denced by the fact that it is the first thought with which
she begins her reminiscences : '' I was bom a tomboy. My
earliest recollections are of dolls' heads ruthlessly cracked
open to see what they were thinking about ; I was pos-
sessed with the idea that dolls could and did think. I
had no fEtculty for making doUs' clothes. [The needle
was never a favorite implement with Charlotte Cushman
throughout her career.] But their furniture I could make
skilfully. I could do anything with tools." This was so
true, that it was often said of her, in after years, she pos-
sessed the germs and capabilities of almost any pursuit
within her, and would have been successful in any direc-
tion to which she had turned her large capacity and her
indomitable wilL " Climbing trees," she continues, "was
an absolute passion ; nothing pleased me so much as to
take refuge in the top of the tallest tree when afTairs
below waxed troubled or insecure. I was very destruc-
tive to toys and clothes, tyrannical to brothers and sister,
but very social and a great favorite with other children.
Imitation was a prevailing trait"
This faculty, which lay at the foundation of all her
subsequent career, was so instinctive with her that she
exercised it almost unconsciously, and even in those early
days, as the following example will show : —
14 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
''On one occasion, when Henry Ware, pastor of the old
Boston Meeting-House, was taking tea with my mother, he
sat at table talking, with his chin resting in his two hands,
and his elbows on the table, I was suddenly startled by my
mother exclaiming ' Charlotte, take your elbows off the table
and your chin out of your hands ; it is not a pretty position
for a young lady ! ' I was sitting in exact imitation of the
parson, even assiuning the expression of his face/' *
Befeiring again to this imitative &LCvlty, Charlotte
says: —
''Beside singing everything, I exercised my imitative powers
in all directions, and often found myself instinctively mimick-
ing the tones, movements, and expression of those about me.
I 'm afraid I was what the French call ' un enfant terrible,' —
in the vernacular, an awful child I full of irresistible life and
impulsive will; living fully in the present, looking neither
before nor after; as ready to execute as to conceive; full of
imagination, — a faculty too often thwarted and warped by
the fears of parents and friends that it means insincerity and
falsehood, when it is in reality but the spontaneous exercise
of faculties as yet unknown even to the possessor, and misun-
derstood by those so-called trainers of infancy.
"This imitative fietculty in especial I inherited from my
grandmother Babbit, bom Mary Saunders, of Gloucester,
Cape Ann ; afterward the wife of Erasmus Babbit, a lawyer
of Sturbridge, Massachusetts ; through whom I am connected
with Governor Marcy's family, the Sargents, the Winthrops,
the Saunders, and Saltonstalls of Salem, and other well-
known families. My grandmother's faculty of imitation was
very remarkable. I remember sitting at her feet on a little
stool and hearing her sing a song of the period, in which she
* This Mr. Ware was intimate in the family, and seems to have exer-
dsed a powerful inflnence over Charlotte. There is a monody, written
by her upon his death, which most have been a very eariy prodaction,
and is a very creditable one. Emerson was a colleague of Mr. Ware in
his church, and taught the Sunday-school classes.
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES 15
delighted me by the most perfect unitation of every creature
belonging to the farmyard.''
This especial gift of imitating the creatures Miss
Cushman herself possessed to a remarkable extent She
could at any time set the table in a roar by the most
vivid representation of a hen pursued and finally caught^
or of the strange, weird, mistrustful behavior of a parrot
This last was inimitabla
Of her grandmother she says : —
'' She was also remarkably clever, bright, and witty, and so
dominated her household and children that, although the
qualities descended, her immediate fiunily^had little oppor-
tunity to exercise them in her presence. My mother was
this lady's only daughter, and I inherited from her the voice
which ^as at first so remarkable and which was the origin of
my introduction to the stage. She sang all the songs of the
time with good voice and taste, and I learned to love music
in the truest way at a mother's side.
" My uncle, Augustus Babbit, who led a seafaring life and
was lost at sea, took great interest in me; he offered me prizes
for proficiency in my studies, especially music and writing.
He first took me to the theatre on one of his return voyages,
which was always a holiday time for me. My first play was
'Coriolanus,' with Macready, and my second ' The Gamester,'
with Cooper and Mrs. Powell as Mr. and Mrs. Beverley. All
the English actors and actresses of that time were of the Sid-
dons and Kemble school, and I cannot but think these early
impressions must have been powerful toward the formation
of a style of acting afterward slowly eliminated through the
various stages of my artistic career.
'* My uncle had great taste and love for the dramatic pro-
fession, and became acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. William
Pelby, for whom the original Tremont Theatre was built
My uncle being one of the stockholders, through him my
mother became acquainted with these people, and thus we
16 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
had many opportunities of seeing and knowing something of
the fraternity.
'^ About this time I became noted in school as a reader,
where before I had only been remarkable for my arithmetic,
the medal for which could never be taken from me. I remem-
ber on one occasion reading a scene from Howard Payne's
tragedy of " Brutus," in which Brutus speaks, and the imme-
diate result was my elevation to the head of the class, to the
evident disgust of my competitors, who grumbled out, ' No
wonder she can read, she goes to the theatre ! ' I had been
before this veiy shy and reserved, not to say stupid, about
reading in school, afraid of the sound of my own voice, and
very unwilling to trust it ; but the greater femiliarity with
the theatre seemed suddenly to unloose my tongue, and give
birth as it were to a faculty which has been the ruling passion
ever since."
I may fittingly insert here portions of a letter I have
received from a friend of her childhood, which refers to
these days. She says : —
** I have only delayed answering your letter that I might
obtain for you one special word of the beloved friend, ad-
dressed to my brother, which dwells in my mind as a valuable
expression of hers. My brother tries as yet in vain to find it;
but he will, if you wish, gather up what he may recall of it
and send it to you through me, or not, as you please. It was
some comment on Salvini and his acting of Othello (with a
chaige to us to see him in Florence), and some criticism on
the play, on the drama, and on acting in general, with deduc-
tions out of her own experience. I remember how it showed
the keen insight of her alert, original, sincere mind, and the
grand force of the woman who, conquering her work, had freed
herself from the conventions and traditional judgments of the
stage ; and I think that, in her private and individual rela-
tions, her friends took that same impression of her as of a
grand soul having conquered life and itself, so that she might
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AKD KEMOBIEa 17
fairly exercise the right to do as she pleased, — to be her own
gracious, individual self. It was that spontaneity in a woman
of the world that held its un&iling charm over men of the
world and over multitudes of young women, which made them
kneel to hen
" I shall never forget our first meeting after many years
of absence. It followed the English period of her career, when
she had attained to a world-wide reputation and that social
prestige which wealth and character cannot CeuI to command.
We sought her, and at last met face to Ceuso the old school-
mate. There was the same uncalculating, fresh, frank face ;
the same merry, dear blue eye, but without the long, flow-
ing, yellow locks to cast back in haste from their obtrusive
sweep ; the same bold tread, now become regal She seated
herself in front of me, holding both my hands in the sincere
grasp of hers, while she went back over the times when, aa
she said, we were boys together, albeit I had no such pen-
chant for a masculine masquerade as she, with the glory of
her Borneo behind her, might reasonably entertain. She re-
called with the greatest zest, and laughter long and loud,
an earlier stage d^but.than the world had seen, when, in
our school-days, her mother, my eldest sister, and perhaps
one or two of our neighbors, made up the audience to our
first represenation of the operetta of Bluebeard, in the large
attic chamber of her mother's house. This was before the
days of popular private theatricals, and marks the mind to
dare and do at that early age. Fatima and Irene have gone to
their graves before her. I was Abomelique. She, with her
then good voice, which afterward became such a rich and won-
derful contralto, was the lover, Selim. Even now I seem to hear
the cheering song of the young soldier, in his white Turkish
trousers, close jacket, red sash, wooden scimetar, and straight
red feather, which, if not that of the Orient Turk, was of the
Western Continentals, as, mounted on some vantage-ground,
a chair, or wooden steps perhaps, he bravely sang out loud
and dear, —
'Fatima, Fatima, Selim 'a here ! '
18 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK :
Then in her mind and mine the scene was shifted, the vision
faded, and we looked on through a few years to the trial scenes
of her musical training, her efforts, her discouragements, still
holding her aims high spite of all resistance, till the Toice
broke and the musical career was ended. Others have told
me an incident belonging to those times. A testimonial con-
cert or entertainment had been given to * Old Father Mallet,'
as he was familiarly known, who had been at some time her
teacher. It proved for those days a large and hearty demon-
Btration, and the old man wept like a child over it. The
heart of the young girl was touched ; and — the feet never in
fear or shame afiraid to follow the impulse of the heart — she
went to him, putting her hand on his head as he sat, and
soothed and comforted him effectually.
'' That she kept the sweet beneficent nature which, wherever
her home was, over all the world, made for courtesy and kind-
ness, you know better than I do. Tet with all this natural
humaneness, which amid prosperity and admiration is so hard
to hold, she also kept, as it seemed to me to her latest years,
her sweetness of temper. That she could frown and look
dark as night I doubt not, though I never saw it, not even
on one occasion, which might have justified some chagrin,
when she had been brought before an irresponsive because
mediocre audience. As she regained the anteroom, the weary
fidl of the head on the shoulder of a friend, with the exclamsr
tion, ' 0, I am dead and buried ! * betrayed the sensitiveness
of the spirit free from all anger or fault-finding.
** But it is time that I call to mind this was meant to be a
letter in which I should tell you I have neither data nor any
continuous recollection of the beloved friend : I have only
some notes of such graceful expression as to charm me into
reading and re-reading. There is only the continuity of love,
a line stretching under the silent years when no sign was
made ; brought up later to the surface of our lives, and flash-
ing and irradiating my memory, electrifying my heart at every
touch which relates to her.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 19
To return to Miss Cushman's recollections : —
''Then came the circumstances in my Other's life which
made it necessary that his children should he placed under
conditions looking toward their future self-support. Eeverses
in business obliged us to remove from Boston to Charlestown,
and I was placed at a public school.
'' I only remained at school until I was thirteen years of
age ; the necessities of the family obliged us to take early
advantage of every opportunity for self-sustainment, and my
remarkable voice seemed to point plainly in that direction.
My mother, at great self-sacrifice, gave me what opportunities
for instruction she could obtain for me, and then my father's
friend, Mr. R. D. Shepherd, of Shepherdstown, Virginia, gave
me two years of the best culture that could be obtained in
Boston at that time, under John Paddon, an English organist
and teacher of singing, the principal teacher of his time.
This was the foundation of my after success, — or rather of
my after opportunity, — for it put me in the way of it, and
even through failure became the foundation of all my success
in my profession.
** There was at this time in Boston a rather remarkable
fiimily of the name of Woodward. The daughters of this
fitmily sang in all the different Unitarian churches ; one of
them, Anne Woodward, was the soprano in Henry Ware's
church. Rebecca, a sister, sang at Dr. Palfrey's, in Brattle
Street; and Dorcas, another, afterwards married to George
Andrews, the comedian, sang at Dr. Pierponfs, in Hollis
Street. They were friends of my mother, and through and
with them I sang in these various choirs. But before this,
and before I had received instruction from Paddon, I should
mention that in my mother's efforts to advance me, and pro-
cure me musical advantages, she had gone to see an old
acquaintance of my father's, a retired sea-captain, who had
invested his savings in a piano-forte factoiy, and amused and
occupied his leisure by presiding himself over the establish-
ment His foreman was a man by the name of Chickering,
20 CHABLOTTB CXISHMAK :
the founder of the great business whieh is now so &mous all
over the world.
*' He invited me to come there to practise, and afterward
procured me instruction from a prot^g6 of his by the name of
Fanner ; and it was here that I obtained my first real knowl-
edge of the science of musia The name of this good sea-
captain was John Mackey, afterward of the firm of Chickering
and Mackey, but then associated with Mr. Babcock in piano-
forte manufacture.
'* When Mrs. Wood came to sing first in Boston, the thea-
tres gave only five representations in the week. They were
not licensed for the Saturday night, and that evening was
usually devoted to concerts. On one of these occasions, a
piano being wanted, they came to select one at my practising
establishment, and while there inquiries were made for a
contralto singer to sing one or two duets with Mrs. Wood.
Captain Mackey, always good and kind, spoke of me, and I
was sent for to go up to the hotel and give a specimen of my
powers before Mrs. Wood. The voice was a very remarkable
one : it had almost two registers, a fUl contralto and almost
a full soprano, but the low voice was the natural one.
^' It was at the Tremont House. Mrs. Wood received me
very kindly, and I rehearsed with her, * As it fell upon a day.'
She seemed to be much impressed by the voice, for she imme-
diately sent up stairs to ask Mr. Wood to come down. He
came, and I sang again, and at the end of the duet they both
seemed much pleased, and both assured me that such a voice
properly cultivated would lead me to any height of fortune I
coveted. After this first essay of my voice Mrs. Wood was
always very kind to me, and I became her constant attend-
ant in her walks ; she talked to me much of the pity it would
be to waste my voice in mere teaching, and influenced greatly
my determination to cultivate it for the stage."
The impression Charlotte Cushman had made upon
Mrs. Wood and the interest she took in her I find indi-
cated in one only letter from her, which has by some
HSB LIFE, LETTEBS, AKD MEMOBIEa 21
accident been preserved It is a yellow, time-stained
document, much worn at the edges and comers, as if its
youthful recipient had carried it long about with her in
her pocket, which I have no doubt she did ; for all her
life long her friendships were of the nature of passions,
and she seems to have taken heartily and kindly to Mrs.
Wood. The letter is not dated, that is, the year is not
given, — a very troublesome omission in most of these
old letters ; but it must have been in 1835 or 1836.
« Mt dear Charlotte: Allow me in the first place to thank
you for your truly kind and most welcome letter, and also to
offer you many apologies for my delay in writing in answer
to it I have been but poorly since I arrived in New York.
It does not agree with me so well as dear Boston. We had a
most tedious voyage^ and only arrived here on Monday morning,
the day on which we were to appear at the Park. The per-
formance was changed, for I was too much fatigued to sing.
On Wednesday, however, we commenced our labors. Every-
thing went off extremely well, but the house was thin. On
Thursday they came out very well to '' Cinderella," and gave
plenty of apj^use. I know it will give you pleasure to hear
that Talma [the dog] is in great health and spirits ; he be-
haved himself in the most discreet manner on board the boat,
and was admired beyond everything,
^I am sure^ my dear Charlotte, that I need not tell you how
I miss you, and how happy I shall be to see you again, and
trust you will follow my advice by practising steadily, so as to
be {»*epared for me when that time arrives, as I am most
anxious for your success. This, I fear, is but a poor epistle ;
but you will excuse it when I tell you that I am a poor cor-
respondenty being always so taken up with my profession.
However, this you must believe, that I am your truly affec-
tionate and sincere friend, „ ^^^ j^^^^ y^^^^„
Below is written, " Not one bouquet of flowers since I
came here ; alas I " And a faint memorandum in pencil
22 CHAALOTTE CUSUMAK :
on the outside says, " Eeceived the 23d of January. The
happiest moment of my life was while reading this let-
ter."
'^ After this [referring to the first interview mentioned
above] I sang with Mrs. Wood on two occasions at her con-
certs, and it was through her influence that I became an ar-
ticled pupil to James 0. Maeder, who had come out with them
from Europe as their musical director, afterwards the hus-
band of Clara Fisher. Under his instruction I made my first
appearance at the Tremont Theatre in the part of the Coun-
tess Almaviva, in the * Marriage of Figaro.' It was considered
a great success. My second appearance was as Lucy Bertram
in * Guy Mannering.'
*' With the Maeders I went to New Orleans, and sang until,
owing perhaps to my youth, to change of climate, or to a too
great strain upon the upper register of my voice, which, as
his wife's voice was a contralto, it was more to Mr. Maeder's
interest to use, than the lower one, I found my voice sud-
denly failing me. In my unhappiness I went to ask counsel
and advice of Mr. Caldwell, the manager of the chief New
Orleans theatre. He at once said to me, ' You ought to be
an actress, and not a singer.' He advised me to study some
parts, and presented me to Mr. Barton, the tragedian of the
theatre, whom he asked to hear me, and to take an interest
in me.
'^ He was very kind, as indeed they both were ; and Mr.
Barton, after a short time, was sufficiently impressed with my
powers to propose to Mr. Caldwell that I should act Lady
Macbeth to his ' Macbeth,' on the occasion of his (Barton's)
benefit. Upon this it was decided that I should give up sing-
ing and take to acting. My contract with Mr. Maeder was
annulled, it being the end of the season. So enraptured was
I with the idea of acting this part, and so fearful of anything
preventing me, that I did not tell the manager I had no
dresses, until it was too late, for me to be prevented from
acting it ; and the day before the performance, after rehearsal,
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 23
I told him. He immediately sat down and wrote a note of
introduction for me to the tragedienne of the French Theatre,
which then employed some of the best among French artists
for its company. This note was to ask her to help me to
costumes for the r61e of Lady Macbeth* I was a tall, thin,
lanky girl at that time, about five feet six inches in height.
The Frenchwoman, Madame Closel, was a short, fat person of
not more than four feet ten inches, her waist full twice the
size of mine, with a very large bust ; but her shape did not
prevent her being a very great actress. The ludicrousness of
her clothes being made to fit me struck her at once. She
roared with laughter ; but she was very good-natured, saw my
distress, and set to work to see how she could help it By dint
of piecing out the skirt of one dress it was made to answer for
an underskirt, and then another dress was taken in in every
direction to do duty as an overdress, and so make up the
costume. And thus I essayed for the first time the part of
Lady Macbeth, fortunately to the satisfaction of the audiencOi
the manager, and all the members of the company."
It is to be much regretted that we have not any analy-
sis by Charlotte Cushman herself how far and in what
way this early conception of the character of Lady Mac-
beth differed from her more mature realization of it It
would be extremely interesting. But it is to be doubted
whether it did differ materially. She grasped at once and
with singular consistency and force the idea of whatever
she had to represent, and, once seized, she identified her-
self with the conception in a way to make it unchange-
ably her own. It has been much dwelt upon in the
many short biographies and notices of her which have
been published from time to time, that she was a labo-
rious student, and that it was by hard work she achieved
her great success in her profession. To a certain extent,
so far as untiring devotion, love, and unity of purpose go,
this is true ; but not at all true in the commonly accepted
24 CHABLOTTE GUSHMAN:
idea of study. Her powers were wonderfully instinctive
and spontaneous. She never had to look over an old
part, in the sense of study, before acting it, even after a
very long interval When it was something entirely new,
as, for instance, when the scene in " Henry VIII." between
Queen Katharine and the two cardinals was introduced,
which she had not been in the habit of acting, it became
necessary for her to study it
The method in this instance was as follows : A speech
would be read over aloud to her, quite slowly and dis-
tinctly; then she would repeat what she could of it
Then another reading and another repetition. The third
time was generally enough. Then the next speech would
be taken up in the same way, and so on. There was ap-
parently no labor, and passages so acquired remained
stored up as it were in her mind, ready, when called for,
at a moment's notice. Beyond the due expression and
feeling given to the words, which she could never wholly
omit even in study or at rehearsal, the acting was left to
the inspiration of the time and place.
CHAPTER n.
"Iiat 's carry with ni Mn tod eye* tor th« Uma,
And hearts for the gveuk"
CoriclaittiM.
"If it be now,
T ii not to coma j If it b« not lo come, it viU be now t
It it be not DOW, yet it will coma ; the readtoeu it olL"
[IIS successful perfomutDce of Lady Macbeth, at
I her age, was surely a most noticeable incident,
I and a remarkable introduction to the stage. She
struck at once, with characterifltic daring, at the veiy
heights of her profession; and although circumstances
and the hard necessities of life afterwards compelled her
to take lower paths and climb upward painfully, yet she
struck here the keynote of her possibilities, and knew to
what she must ultimately attain. Friends will remem-
ber, who have heard her tell of the difficulties she sur-
mounted to reach that place from which in her thoughts
and dreams she never afterwards descended, which was to
her the goal of all her ambitions. Her circumstances were
DO doabt poor enough. She had no place for study, and
she need to resort to the garret of the house she boarded
in, and sit there on the floor, committing to memory the
parts to which she aspired and dreaming out the meth-
ods of their realization. One can well imagine bow the
impetus of this remarkable success, following upon Uie
26 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN :
bitter disappointment in her voice, carried back the detm-
tanU with renewed hope and eneigy toward home again.
'' The season being at an end,** she resumes, " I took pas-
sage in a sailing-vessel for Philadelphia on mj way to New
York. In those days travelliDg was a very different and much
more tedious affair than it is now. Arrived in New York, I
addressed a note to Mr. Simpson, manager of the Park Thea-
tre, asking him for an engagement. He offered me a triaL
While debating upon this, which seemed to my young imagi-
nation a* great slight, coming fresh from my triumph in Lady
Macbeth, I received a call one day frt>m Mr. Thomas Hamblin,
manager of the Bowery Theatre, then a very successful man.
He was very kind ; he said that his friend, Mr. Barton, had
arrived frt>m New Orleans, and had told him a great deal
about me ; he should very much like to see me rehearse, and
assured me if it was like what his friend had informed him of,
he would make as great a success for me as he had done for
another actress, a Miss Vincent, who was a great &vorite.
''This, of course, fired my imagination and soothed the
feelings which Mr. Simpson had wounded by asking me to
act on triaL I was then too much of a child to understand
the advantage of having even an inferior place at the Park
Theatre, nvhere there was at that time an excellent school for
acting in a famous company, over a first-class position in a
second-class theatre. So I acceded to Mr. Hamblin's wish.
He heard me rehearse scenes from Lady Macbeth, Jane Shore,
Belvidera, Mrs. Haller, etc., expressed himself satisfied, and
entered into a contract with me for a three years' engage-
ment, at a salary to increase ten dollars a week each year,
commencing at twenty-five dollars.
" I had no wardrobe for these characters, and it was decided
my engagement should commence as soon as these could be
prepared. Not having the means to procure this wardrobe,
Mr. Hamblin arranged for me, with people from whom he
bought goods for his theatre, that I should be supplied with
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 27
whaieyer was necessary. He would beoome responsible for
the debt, and deduct five dollars a week from my salary to
meet it. Seeing thus an independence before me, I hastened
at once to relieve my mother from her position in Boston,
where she was keeping a boarding-house, which, with four
children to support, may be imagined had not been very prof-
itable. She made all her arrangements, broke up her house,
and came to me. I got a situation for my eldest brother in
a store in New York. I left my only sister in charge of a
half-sister in Boston, and took my youngest brother with me.
" One week before the engagement for which I was announced
in New York, I was one day suddenly seized with chills and
fever, caused by getting overheated in a walk at Harlem. For
three weeks I was very seriously ill with rheumatic fever,
which finally succtmibed to what was then a novelty in New
York, — medicated vapor baths. One week after the first appli-
cation of this I was acting. But three weeks of the four
which had been devoted to the commencement of my first
engagement were exhausted, and other novelties to be pro-
duced at a particular date left me only one week to make my
New York impression, for I was to act but four weeks in New
York, and then be sent elsewhere. Weak as I was from my
illness, that impression might very easily have been impaired ;
but I succeeded beyond my expectations and those of my
manager. During that week I acted Lady Macbeth (to Mr.
Hamblin's *' Macbeth,") Jane Shore, and Mrs. Haller. But the
reaction from this first week was naturally very great. I was
again in bed from excessive weakness. My wardrobe, which
I felt did not properly belong to me until I had paid for it, I
left in the theatre until such time as I should again need it.
The piece produced the week after mine was " Lafitte," and on
the first or second night of it the Bowery Theatre was burned
to the ground, with all my wardrobe, all my debt upon it, and
my three years' contract ending in smoke !
''In my miserable position, with all the dependants then
upon me, I sent for the manager of a little theatre called the
28 CHABLOTTE CUSHICAK :
Chatham in New York, and also of the principal theatre in
Albany, conducted at that time by Mr. W. R. Blake as stage
manager. I asked him for an engagement in Albany, where
I could at the same time get practice and be sufficiently near
to New York that if an opening came I might take advan-
tage of it.
" He gave me an engagement for five weeks, to which I pro-
ceeded immediately, accompanied by my mother and younger
brother, which latter I placed at school. During this en-
gagement I became a great fii.vorite. At the hotel where we
lived there also boarded a number of the members of the
State Senate and House of Representatives. I became ac-
quainted with many of them, who were very kind to me.
It became known that Governor Marcy was a cousin of my
mother. He was a man held in high estimation, and this
fact may have bettered my position socially, though he was
then Senator at Washington. It had been jokingly remarked
often that more of the members of both houses could be
found at my benefit than at the Capitol
''There I remained five months, acting all the principal
characters, at the end of which time I lost my young brother
by a sad accident, which event made a very serious mark
upon my life; most of the enthusiasm and ambition, which
bad been a most marked trait, seemed suddenly checked. I
bad less to work for, and I determined then, that, knowing
very little of my art as art, I would seek to place myself in a
position where I could learn it thoroughly. I became aware
that one could never sail a ship by entering at the cabin win-
dows; he must serve, and learn his trade before the mast.
This was the way that I would henceforth learn mine."
The young brother, of whom mention has been made
above, whose sudden loss affected her so deeply, seems to
have been very dear to her, and some school-boy letters
of his which have been preserved show that the affection
was mutual The letters are carefully dated, which is
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 29
more than old heads did in those days. They begin, ''My
darling sister"; sometimes ''darling'' is not enough, and
he puts " Dear, darling sister," and there is frankness and
manliness in the tone of them and in the large, bold
school-boy hand. " Tell Charley to come and see me," he
says, " tell Susy to come too, and you come, and mother,
then there will be a good load of you " ; and in another,
" 0, how I wish I could see you before you go to New
York. Do come up. I hope Charley will come, I am so
anxious to see him ; bless his old heart ! " It is clear that
he is of her kind, and possessed also the love principle
largely developed. Among the papers is one wherein he
19 showing his penmanship by striking off, in grand style,
the names of all the different members of the family ; an
extra amount of flourish and grander style attests the
value he sets upon the name of the beloved sister. Sal-
lie Mercer, Miss Cushman's faithful maid, bears witness
to her high estimate of this young brother, and the hopes
she cherished for his future career. He gave promise of
genius of a high order, and his death was a blow from
which she never quite recovered. He was killed by a
fall from a horse she had given him. The jacket he wore
at the time was always preserved, and went with them
from place to place through all her wanderings.
After this event she wrote to Mr. Simpson of the Park
Theatre, New York, asking him for any opening there
might be ; and the position of " walking lady," vacated by
the secession of the pretty Mrs. Cramer, and "general
utility business" was offered her at twenty dollars a
week.
"During the summer of that year,'' she resumes, " I made
a little excursion to Buffalo and Detroit, on a starring engage-
ment. There, at the house of the then Governor of Michigan,
Stephen Y. Mason, I became acquainted with Captain Mar-
30 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
ryatt, the author, whose friendship I enjoyed from that time
for the remainder of his life. Returning to New York, in
due time I commenced my engagement at the Park Thea-
tre, which lasted for three years, — from September, 1837, to
June, 1840."
Of this time there are but scanty records, and scarcely
any letters have been preserved. We only know that it
was a time of hard work, of ceaseless activity, and of
hard-won and scantily accorded appreciation. From a
very poor publication, called " Records of the New York
Stage," I find notes of her various performances, wherein
one is most struck by the uncommon versatility of her
powers, and the continual alternation all along the scale
of character,
** From grave to gay, fix)m lively to severe."
These were the days of intense study and hard practice,
when it was the custom of the theatres to change the
plays every night ; to think that the public must have
perpetual novelty; when two plays, often three, were
given on the ssune evening, and long runs were unknown.
But these trying days afterwards bore excellent fruit, and
culminated in the finished artist
From a remarkably well-written letter by a stranger,
an Englishman, which I find in a Boston paper of the
year 1863, this time is thus alluded to : —
"I saw Charlotte Cushman act in Boston for her benefit
a short time before her first departure for Europe. The
audience was not generously large; indeed, I might say it
was ungenerously small, and not a few in it were foreigners.
This was not as it should be. Macready had a succession
of crowded audiences, and in private life he was welcomed,
feasted, and f^ted. Miss Cushman supported him brilliantly,
loyally, sympathetically, and thus contributed much to his
HER UFE, LETTEBSi AND MEMOBIEa 31
eminent success. He acted to the last available hour, and
the morning of the date which was appointed for Miss Cush-
man's benefit he sailed for England. There may have been
inevitable reasons for this, which may have justified it to
Miss Cushman herself; but upon her friends it left a very
unpleasant impression. Miss Cushman belonged to Boston
by birth, kindred, education ; and Boston should have bidden
her Godspeed in ' a bumper.' But we have changed all that,
and Boston has often made ample amends for this casual
neglect of her native artist. I could not help feeling the
contrast the other evening between 'now and then.'"
The letter is written on the occasion of Miss Cushman's
performance in Boston for the benefit of the Sanitary
Commission, for which purpose she had come all the way
from Boma If there were space, I should like to make
longer extracts from this letter ; but this particular passage
I cannot omit Speaking of the impression she made on
him when he first saw her, which was many years before
at the Park Theatre, the writer says : —
i€
In one of my evening rambles about the city I fo\md
myself passing the Park Theatre, and I was moved to go in.
There was little, I confess, in outward appearance that waa
cheerful or exciting. The scenery was poor, tawdry, and in-
appropriate, the lights were dim, and the audience not large.
The play was 'Othello,' and on the whole the performance
was spiritless. In the part of Emilia I saw a large«ized, fair-
complexioned young woman, not of handsome, but of impres-
sive presence. The effect of her denunciation of the Moor
after the murder of Desdemona was electric. The few lines
of high passion which the part contains, by the power with
which the actress delivered them, made the part, insignificant
though it is, the leading one on that occasion. By looking
at the bill I found the name of this actress was Charlotte
Cushman. She was rapturously applauded, and this was the
32 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK :
only hearty applause that was given during the evening. I
knew that there was no ordinary artist in this then compara-
tively unknown young woman« I saw her next in Lady
Macbeth, and my conviction was only the more confirmed by
. this terrible test of any genius. I went away filled with ad-
miration, resolved to see this powerful actress as often as I
should have the opportunity. I then foresaw her £une, and
time has justified my prophecy. I saw her frequently after-
ward, when she played with Mr. Macready, and even with this
great and cultivated artist she held her own. She had not
had his experience, but she had genius. There were times
when she more than rivalled him ; when in truth she made
him play second. I observed this in New York, and a critic
in the Times bore witness to it in London. I have seen her
throw such energy, physical and mental, into her performance,
as to weaken for the time the impression of Mr. Macready's
magnificent acting. She profited no doubt by his admirable
ability and veteran experience, but she nevertheless always
preserved her own independence and thorough individuality.
** Sometimes the intensity with which her acting affected me
also vexed me. ' The Stranger ' and * Fazio ' are both plays
that I could never see for their own sakes ; but I have been
so moved by Miss Cushman's Mrs. Haller and Bianca, that I
have gone home ill from the effect of the acting. I was
unutterably ashamed of myself to be so prostrated by compo-
sitions of such spasmodic melodrama and such maudlin sen-
timentalism ; but the artist created the tragedy in her own
person, and that which was frigid in the book became pa-
thetic in the woman. The same was the case with Mrs.
Siddons ; some of her most overpowering acting was in very
inferior plays."
From a note to her mother, dated "New York," I glean
the following reference to her first performance at the
Park Theatre with Mr. Macready. " In great haste I
write only a few words, with a promise to write again to-
HEB UFEy LETTKBSi AND HEMOBIES. 33
night after the play, and tell you all particulars of my gieat
and triumphant success of last night, of my reception, of
being called out after the play, and hats and handker-
chiefs waved to me, flowers sent to me, etc."
In the winter of 1842 she undertook the management
of the Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, at that time
much run down, and it was lifted fix)m its low condition
by her spirited and clever management. She was a great
favorite, and the theatre recovered its popularity. Among
the company we find the names of Chippendale, Freder-
icks, Wheatly, Alexina Fisher, the three sisters Valine, —
one of them afterwards Mrs. De Bar, — her sister Susan
Cushman, eta She was herself, of course, the leading
personage of the theatre, and acted all her at that time
immense repertoire. With characteristic decision, how-
ever, she did not hesitate, when Mr. Macready came, and
she saw the opportunity for study and improvement in
his company, to give up her position of management for
the purpose of acting with him, and underwent the enor-
mous fatigue of acting alternate nights between New York
and Philadelphia for the term of his engagement in New
York.
During the year 1842 there are letters passing between
her and Dr. Lardner, who was then on a lecturing tour in
the United States, on the subject of the proper lighting and
ventilating of the theatre, showing a thoughtfulness on
these subjects at that early time most striking and un-
usual He is evidently full of appreciation of her ability
and capacity, and avails himself of it thanldully with
reference to his own affairs in the country.
I find also letters under this date from Mr. Colley
Grattan, British Consul at Boston, an early and warm
"friend, who afterwards furnished her with letters of intro-
duction to England. One of these letters alludes to the
84 CHABLOTTS CUBHMAK:
play of " The-Bear Hunters/' which is probably his play,
and which Miss Cushman had produced at her theatre.
He says, '' I would give much to see you look Aline, though
there is nothing in the words of the part worthy of you."
Another letter from him alludes to some cloud of dis-
couragement which seems to have passed over her, and
he says: ''You talk of quitting the profession in a year.
I expect to see you stand very high indeed in it by that
time. Tou must neither write nor think nor speak in
the mood that beset you three days ago. I have no
doubt the cloud has passed over, and that the fine sun-
shine and bracing air of this very day are wanning and
animating you to the 'top of your bent.' (I wanted two
or three words to finish the sentence, and as usual found
them in Shakespeare.) "
Again he says, in reference to the same letter: "Are
you not yourself tinged perhaps by the sensitiveness (to
give it no harsher name, which is, after all, the true one)
so common to the profession ? Beware, not of jealousy,
for I am sure you are above its reach, but of over-anxiety
to please those whom the ardor of your temperament leads
you to overestimate."
These are marvellously true words, and show deep in-
sight into character. All her life long Charlotte Cush-
man suffered from this " ardent anxiety," her warm, true
heart prompting always her active, impetuous tempera-
ment to acts of kindness, not always estimated at their
true valua There are people so coldly constituted that
they shut themselves up against demonstration, as if it
were something false, something to be guarded against,
and the warm glow which emanates from an earnest,
loving nature beats upon them in vain. The worse for
them I The coldness which they summon up to repel
the angels of this life strikes inward, and dulls all that
HEB UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 35
is best worth having in this life and in that which comes
after.
In another letter of this period Mr. Grattan says : —
*' I am sincerely glad you have made up your mind to go to
England next summer. It must do you infinite good if you
go there in a mood of true philosophy, not expecting too
much, and resolved not to be discouraged if things fell short
of your hopes. Remember that this country must be the
field of your permanent exertions. England will be only a
training-ground, where you cannot avoid learning much that
will be valuable to you. I hope we shall have plenty of time
to talk the whole matter over and over. As to the ofier from
the London Theatre you speak of^ you must consider it well
before you make any pledge that would be binding. Be very
cautious in writing. I would by all means advise your play-
ing first in Liverpool, Manchester, and perhaps in Dublin. It
would accustom you to John Bull and Paddy Bull audiences,
and give you confidence in yoiurselfl*
''There is very much on this subject which I shall be
anxious to say to you. I feel a deep anxiety for your welfare.
I hope you will continue to dream ' horrid dreams about me/
as long as they go by eontrairies. But let your waking
thoughts be sure to remind you of me as I am.
" Faithfully and cordially your friend."
In another letter, writing from Boston, he says : —
** The theatre has been very well attended here. Mr. Yan-
denhofif is greatly admired. I wish to God you were not
tied to your own stage. But I am rejoiced to hear on all
hands how well you are doing, and that you and your sister
are such favorites in Philadelphia. I hope I may be able to
go and see you in the early part of next year. Pray write to
me soon and fully about your prosperity, for that is what I
like to hear ot Believe me, as I know you do,*
" Yours with great truth and regard."
* Mr. Grattan must have been astonished at tlie manner in which she
took both of these bcdls by the horns.
36 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
It is to be deeply regretted that Miss Cushman's own
letters, to which these are answers, have not been pre-
served ; in every step of this undertaking I have reason
to deplore the want of foresight which has permitted such
wholesale destruction of these valuable letters.
From later notes, under date London, 1859, which I
may as well insert here, to preserve the sequence of this
correspondence, I find the following, referring to the death
of her sister Susan : —
" I cannot resist the wish to write you a few lines, not
merely because it is usual from true and cordial friendship on
such occasions, but because I do think you will be pleased to
know that I am always deeply interested in whatever concerns
you, and anxious you should know also that neither time nor
absence nor distance, those fatal foes to intimate communica-
tion, can alter my long and faithful affection. I am deeply
grieved at the loss you now suffer under, and very, very sorry
on my own account. I greatly admired and esteemed your
sister. I heard the sad news even before the papers had
announced it, from your most worthy and attached friends,
the B s. This sad loss, so unexpected and so severe,
must draw closer to you all to whom you have been attached
by ties of femily affection, or by the sympathy of friendship.
It is well that you have so many duties to perform, such a
warm heart and clear head to sustain you under such a heavy
trial."
Referring to his book on America, he says : —
" One word about my book, to which you allude. I quite
foi^t its existence when I was writing to you. I know there
is no one who would more cordially testify to much of its
truth than you would. But still, you are American, with a
keen sense of national feeling, as you ought to be, and there
are pictures in it that might not please you ; so I should pre-
fer your being content with the extracts sent you, without
HER UFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 37
risking the possibility of disapproving the work and blaming
the author and your true friend^ *< T. C. G.'
It was about this time that Miss Cushman's well-known
maid, Sallie, became a part of her family, — I might well
say a part of herself, for she always called her "her right
hand." Any memorial would be incomplete which would
leave out the friend and companion of all her wanderings,
the sharer of her trials and her triumphs, the good, de-
voted, faithful Sallie Mercer. She came into these close
relations with her mistress very early, when she was but
fourteen years of age. Miss Cushman was struck by her
serious, steady ways, her anxious forehead, but especially
by her eyebrows ; she believed in what she called " con-
scientious eyebrows," and Sallie's were so peculiar in that
way, that one of our merry habitudes in Borne used to
say, " I am always in expectation of seeing Sallie's eye-
brows go over the top of her head." There was some
difficulty in taking her away from her mother, who also
had her ideas of the child's value ; but it was one of the
things fated to be, and so was finally accomplished. From
that time the two were never separated, except for the
necessity or pleasure of Miss Cushman. Sallie never had
any will, any love, any desire, apart from her and her
interests. Perhaps there never has been a more perfect
instance of absolute devotion on the one side, and appre-
ciation and trust on the other, than this association pre-
sented.
With all this entire self-abnegation, Sallie was by no
means wanting in character; she had a really superior
administrative faculty, an imceasing, loving conscientious-
ness in all her duties, which no temptation ever biased.
Temptation, indeed ! Sallie did not know the word and
its power ; to her there was but one law, duty, — duty in
38 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
all her relations, but first and chiefest her duty to '' Miss
Charlotte." Wherever she was, duty had to be the su-
preme law, and she was rigid and inexorable against all
the little relaxations and loose-endednesses which make
of service in our day so much of a lip and eye contract.
She, like her mistress, always exercised a sort of natural
supremacy. In her department she reigned, and it was
edifying to hear her address the other servants, often
much older than herself, as " my child."
Sallie's "good sense" also was conspicuous; her rule,
though rigid, was just and kindly ; true as steel to her
class, she never, though much noticed and highly esteemed
by all Miss Cushman's friends, was known to overstep
the boundary of her position. Add to this that she
had excellent tastes, loved reading, and always carried
about with her her favorite books. Her memory was a
distinguishing attribute; she knew all Miss Cushman's
parts so well, that she could act the part of prompter
upon occasioa Miss Gushman teUs of an instance when,
through some most unusual cause, for a moment the words
of her part failed her ; they were gone as if they had never
been. The prompter, seldom needed by her, was off his
post Moving across the scene to cover her momentary
perplexity, her eye fell on Sallie at the side scene, who,
comprehending the situation at once, supplied the missing
link, and she went oa
Sallie was the only "dresser" she ever had; the guar-
dian and custodian of all her theatrical properties. She
knew, to a pin, whatever was necessary to each costume,
and, no matter how many were the changes, nothing was
ever missing. Long experience had made the routine ab-
solutely perfect, relieving her mistress of all care upon the
subject. Afterwards, when the pressure of slow-wearing
disease came, what tongue or pen could ever do justice
HEB LUB, LETTXB8, AND MEMORIES. 39
to the unfailing, untiring travail of heart and hand in the
service of the beloved and worshipped mistress I
In travelling, also, Sallie was invaluabla She was in
all respects a skilful courier, and those who were so happj
as to journey under her convoy and that of Miss Cush-
man never knew the inconveniences and annoyances so
apt to beset travellers. But SaUie had a universal genius :
in travelling, she was courier ; when resting, she was maid,
nurse, purveyor, general providence; when settled down
for a season, she was housekeeper; always the one who
knew where everything was, who kept a watchful eye
over alL The Italian servants looked upon her as a sort
of Deus ex mcuJiina, and believed in her powers and re-
sources with an almost superstitious trust Her store-
closet was supposed to contain inexhaustible treasures ;
nothing could be asked for in the house, but the answer
was sure to be, "Cui dentro,'* — in here, — pointing to
Sallie's closet, which at last came to be called ^'cui
dentro" by all the house. As my object is to give as
nearly as possible a picture of Miss Cushman's life and
surroundings under all their varied aspects, I make no
apology for giving place to this sketch of her favorite
servant
On October 26, 1844, she sailed for England in the
packet-ship Garrick. Her finances, when she made up her
mind to try this En^ish venture, were not very flourishing.
As we have seen, her last benefit in Boston did not help
her much. She was obliged to make arrangements for the
maintenance of her family during her absence, and with
characteristic prudence she took care that a sufficient simi
should be left intact to enable her to return home in case
of failure. It will be seen she did not " bum her ships."
A short pencil diary kept on board ship, and which was
the last efibrt of the kind she ever made, — for her life in
40 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
England very soon became too full to allow the time for
any such expression^ — shows that with all her courage
and decision there were also feelings of deep despondency
at the bottom of her heart ; doubts and fears which only
herself knew about, and the expression of which in these
penciUings gives a touching dew to what must have been
her early struggles in England before she achieved her
recognition.
" How little," she writes, " do we estimate our good gifts of
fortune till we are deprived of them ! And this, though worn
out and stale as a proverb, comes upon me with full force at
this time. When desponding, I repent that I have left my
home. I reproach myself that I was not content with mod-
erate competency, while in its enjoyment, but must thrust
myself out from the delight which I was permitted to enjoy,
for this miserable, frightM imcertainty, this lingering doubt,
which at last may lead to disappointment."
She contrasts the sea voyage of 1844 with that of 1836,
and says, of the two, that of 1844 will remain much longer
and more strongly impressed upon her memory. " I am
eight years older," she says, " than when I went to sea
last ; and while I have my senses, I think I will never
go again after I once more return to my own land." She
became so familiar with the sea in after yeais, that she
crossed the Atlantic upwards of sixteen times.
But the voyage passes, as all disagreeable things do, with
days of misery and discouragement, fast yielding toward
the last to better influences as health returns and the
mercurial, hopeful temperament gets the mastery; but
there is much more looking back than forward. The ties
of family and friendship — always strong as death with
Charlotte Cushman — draw her powerfully backward, and
the diary is full of the tenderest thoughts and fancies over
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 41
the dear ones left behind. She finds friends on board,
however, who were afterwards tried and true to the last.
If ever any one had a specialty for making and keeping
friends, she had ; the friends of her early days were those
of her later years, and nothing but their own unworthi-
ness ever lost them a place once won in her regard. This
does not mean that her nature was facile in accepting
friends or intimates. She had a keen insight into the
basis of character, and was not deceived by the glitter of
false metal Although her profession, by bringing her into
contact with all sorts of people, obliged her to associate
with them for a time, no unworthy soul ever made a lodge-
ment When the time came, they were as inevitably shed
off from her as muddy water glides over without soiling
the snowy plumage of the swan. So it was with regard
to mere conventional standards in her estimate of people.
Her range of sympathy covered the highest and the low-
est alike, and both alike found no difference in the sweet
and gracious character of her reception of them ; and al-
though she estimated at its full value the greatness of
eminent station and of intellectual and artistic achieve-
ment, and knew how to give honor where honor was due,
yet she had a still warmer comer in her large heart for
the unobtrusive merit of genuine worth, even when it
came to her in the humblest guise.
She alludes to one of the friends made on board the
Garrick as a very religious person, of the Presbjrterian
persuasion, and mentions a remark made by her of
which she says, " T am uncertain whether she means it
as a compliment, but she says she thought that people in
my profession were very different from what she finds me
to be." This suggests another reflection with regard to her,
which is, that no one ever seemed to feel any antagonism
with her on religious subjects ; she was always sincerely
42 CHABLOTTE CU8HHAN :
religious without cant or pretension, and she had a rever-
ent sympathy for all forms of belief, which enabled her
to worship as devoutly under the dome of a Boman
Catholic cathedral as in the simplest and barest of tab-
emacle& In either, her grand, earnest voice would roll out
its sincere cadences with entire and absolute faith that
it is out of the heart of the worshippers, and not through
the form of the worship, that the acceptable incense rises
up to the Father of us alL The grand simplicity of her na-
ture was nowhere shown more fully than in this ; she could
meet all professors alike on their own ground, where there
was sincerity of conviction, and never failed to interest
and attract them.
To return to the voyage. As the days pass on, the
natural reaction of her active, energetic spirit towards the
future rather than the past takes place, and we find re-
flections as to the possibility of a longer stay than the six
months she had laid out for herself. '' If I act," she says,
" I will not go home imtil I succeed as they would have
me. Longer than I have promised myself will seem an
age, but I must have patience."
On Saturday, 15th, they sighted land. She says : —
" I look upon it with such different feelings from the other
passengers. I would freely give up the privilege of stepping
upon this terra tncognita, if I could turn round and go straight
back again. At home in three weeks 1 Instead of joy, a feel-
ing of profound sadness presses upon my heart, and I find my-
self unconsciously shedding tears at my lonely situation* I
am indeed a stranger, and I feel it. My only hope can be
that I may not long feel it so. If I do, it will break my heart
The morning is thick and miserable, and as we get nearer the
land the fog is more dense. The English on board are smack-
ing their lips as if they recognized the taste of their own
native air, off here three hundred miles from their homes. I
HEB UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIE& 43
can well understand the feeling, for if I were within one thou-
sand miles of Philadelphia, I am sure I should imagine I could
scent Philadelphia air. They tell me this is a fair specimen
of En^ish weather. Good heavens 1 what a state of density
to live in 1 "
On another page of the diaiy I find copied the well-
known passage fix)m Longfellow's " Hyperion " : —
*' Look not mournfully into the past ; it comes not back
again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth
into the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly
heart."
And these lines tiom Browning's " Paracelsus,'* which
seem to throw a vivid light upon the workings of her
mind at that time : —
"What though
It be 80 ? — if indeed the 8tit>ng desire
Eclipse the aim in me f — if splendor break
Upon the outset of my path alone.
And duskest shade succeed t What fairer seal
Shall I require to my authentic mission
Than this fierce energy T — this instinct striving
Because its nature is to strive t — enticed
By the security of no broad course,
With no success forever in its eyes !
How know I else such glorious fate my own.
But in the restless, irresistible force
That works within me f Is it for human will
To institute such impulses — still less
To disregard their promptings f What should I
Do, kept among you all ; your loves, your cares,
Your life, — all to be mine ! Be sure that God
Ne*er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart t
Ask the gier-eagle why she stoops at once
Into the vast and unexplored abyss ;
What full-grown power informs her from the firsts
Why she not marvels, strenuously beating
The silent, boundless regions of Uie sky ! "
44 CHilRLOTTE CUSUMAN :
The passage, —
" Be sore that Ood
Ke*er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart ! "
was always a favorite quotation with her.
The vessel arrived in Liverpool Monday, November 18,
1844. After a week's rest she went with the fellow-
passengers mentioned above on a short excursion into
Scotland. In a letter written after her return she refers
to this tiip.
*' Having so agreeable an opportunity to go with these kind
friends, I thought in case anything happened that I should
not go to Scotland to act, it would be a pity to take such a
long voyage and see nothing of Edinburgh ; so I e*en started,
and have been through Scotland and seen everything worth
seeing. My letters of introduction took me among the most
delightful people I ever met in my life. They treated me
like a princess."
It may not be inappropriate to note here how wise
and judicious this movement was. The journey into
Scotland, though it might seem something of an extrava-
gance to one who was obliged then to coimt every penny,
was yet the most sensible thing she could do, to obtain
a proper reaction after the long and dreary voyage, and
the deep depression which had overwhelmed her in part-
ing with her family and launching herself alone upon the
world. It took her through the most charming parts
of England and brought her into contact with kindly and
appreciative people, who were not slow to discover the
unusual quality and promise of their visitor. Beside
restoring the tone of her mind, it aided in the restoration
of her health, and prepared her to meet the arduous labors
which were before her. Afterwards it was extremely
characteristic that, instead of sitting down and eating her
own heart in suspense and anxiety in her dull lodgings
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 45
in Covent Garden, she boldly dashed over to Paris, and
for ten days put herself in the way of seeing all that
the French stage could offer of best and most finished in
her profession, — a great treat to her, no doubt, and one
which, coining upon the firesh soil of her mind, made an
ineffaceable and powerful impressioa
On her first arrival in England she had found a letter
awaiting her from Mr. Macready, proposing to her to act
with a company which was being organized in Paris, of
which himself and Miss Faucit formed a part She tells
in another place how she came to reject this proposition.
In Paris she was again approached on the subject Some
misunderstanding had arisen between Miss Faucit and the
management, and they came to Miss Cushman to see if
she would be willing to step into the vacant place. She
conceived the idea at once that, by establishing so early in
her career anything like a rivalry with the -at that time
— favorite actress of England, she might possibly preju-
dice her chances in that country. Suddenly making up
her mind to place herself out of reach of influence or temp-
tation by a judicious retreat, she returned to London, and
there in her humble lodgings awaited her destiny. Of
this time of suspense and anxiety, before her great suc-
cess. Miss Cushman was fond of talking in after yeara
She was never ashamed of her struggles or her poverty,
and would tell with a certain pride, as contrasting with
the position she afterwards achieved for herself, of her
straitened housekeeping, and with no little amusement
of Sallie's careful economies, and how they both rejoiced
over an invitation to dinner, of which before long she had
abundance and to spare. Sallie says, "Miss Cushman
lived on a mutton-chop a day, and I always bought the
baker's dozen of muffins for the sake of the extra one,
and we ate them all, no matter how stale they were ; and
46 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN :
we never suffered from want of appetite in those days."
Sallie always said those early days were the happiest
they had.
Meantime she was active and busy, taking what steps
she could toward obtaining the much-desired opportunity,
not easy to secure upon her own conditions, imheralded
and comparatively unknown as she was, and hedged about
by untold difficulties and rivalries and vexations.
In the midst of it aU she never abated one Jot of her
determination to take a high place or none, not even
when she foxmd herself reduced to her last sovereign, as
she was when Maddox, the manager of the Princess
Theatre, at last came to her. He was reported by the
watchful Sallie as walking up and down the street, early
one morning, too early for a visit " He is anxious," said
Miss Cushman ; " I can make my own terms." And so
it proved. He wanted her to act with Forrest, then about
to make his d^but before a London audience. She was
not willing to appear first in a secondary part, and stipu-
lated that she should have her opportunity first and alone
then, if she succeeded she would be willing to act with
Forrest So it was settled ; she made her impression, and
carried her point This was the turning-point in her
career, — "The tide which taken at the flood leads on to
fortuna" It was not money she sought, but recognition ;
and she entered upon her first London engagement, for a
limited number of nights, at seven pounds a night
r:^kO,^^
CHAPTER III.
" Nothing becomes him ill.
That he would welL"
Lov^s Labor Lad.
" Ton have desetred
High commendation, true applanae, and Iotc."
Aa You Like IL
|FTER much difficulty in procuring a suitable
person to act with her, she made her first ap-
pearance as Bianca in Milman's tragedy of
" Fazio," February 14, 1845.
From letters to her mother, written immediately after
her arrival in England, I make the following extracts. In
describing her voyage, she mentions this incident : —
" On the morning of the 8th I came near being washed
overboard. I was sitting on deck during the squalls, holding
on by the back of the settee, when a squall struck us, and
washed seat and me and two sailors entirely over to the other
side of the ship, and but for the rolling up of that side we
should have gone over. I never was so frightened in my
life, nor, even when overboard off Long Wharf, more wet. I
thought for a moment that I was indeed gone. However,
fortune fetvors the brave, and I was picked up the most drip-
ping young woman you ever saw I found, on arriv-
ing at the hotel, that Macready had sent down from London
three times to see if I had arrived. I have in all about
seventy letters of introduction, and I suppose I may make
some friends ; but, as it is, I feel most miserable and lonely."
48 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
Another letter, under date December 2d, refers to her
excursion into Scotland, and adds : —
" By the by, did I tell you Macready had written to me,
and there was a letter awaiting me on my arriyal, telling me
he wanted me to come to Paris ? I hardly knew what to do,
but wrote to Barton, who advised me ; so I sent word / could
not come. He wrote back ; got annoyed. I replied ; and last
Saturday I received a letter quite ill-tempered, saying I was
taking an irrevocable step. On Sunday morning down came
a gentleman from London to persuade me ; but 'while the
father softened the governor was fixed/ and he went back to
London."
A letter of March 2d, 1845, speaks of her great success
in London with justifiable exultation.
*' By the packet of the 10th I wrote you a few lines and
sent a lot of newspapers, which could tell you in so much
better language than I could of my brilliant and triumphant
success in London. I can say no more to you than this : that
it is far, far beyond my most tannine expectations. In my
most ambitious moments I never dreamed of the success which
has awaited me and crowned every effort I have made. To
you I should not hesitate to tell all my grief and all my
&ilure if it had been such, for no one could have felt more
with me and for me. Why, then, should I hesitate (unless
through a fear that I might seem egotistical) to tell you all my
triumphs, all my success? Suffice it, all my successes put
together since I have been upon the stage would not come near
my success in London ; and I only wanted some one of you
here to enjoy it with me, to make it complete."
In the next letter, dated March 28th, we see she is
reaping the full measure of her success, not only publicly,
but socially.
" I have been so crowded with company,** she says, " since
I have acted, that upon my word and honor I .am almost sick
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 49
of it. Invitations pour in for every night that I do not act,
and all the day I have a steady stream of callers ; so that it
has become among my more particular friends a joke that I
am never with less than six people in the room ; and I am so
tired when it comes time for me to go to the theatre that
Sallie has to hold my cup of tea for me to drink it.
** It seems almost exaggerated, this account ; but indeed
you would laugh if you could see the way in which I am be-
sieged, and if you could see the heaps of complimentary letters
and notes you would be amused. All this, as you may imag-
ine, reconciles me more to England, and now I think I might
be willing to stay longer. If my femily were only with me, I
think I could be content. Sei^eant Talfourd has promised to
write a play for me by next year. I have played Bianca four
times, Emilia twice. Lady Macbeth six times, Mrs. Haller five,
and Rosalind five, in five weeks. I am sitting to five artists.
So you may see I am very busy. I hesitate to write even to
you the agreeable and complimentary things that are said and
done to me here, for it looks monstrously like boasting. I
like you to know it, but I hate to tell it to you myself."
A friend writes under date of May 12, 1845 : —
^' I found Charlotte looking well, but complaining of fatigue ;
she is surrounded by friends who seem to consider her the
beau ideal of everything that is great. Sergeant Talfourd yes-
terday, in pleading a case for Mr. Maddox, took occasion to
eulogize her in the most extraordinary manner, called her
the second Siddons, etc., and praised her to the skies, when
it was totally uncalled for. It is really unprecedented. The
papers continue to speak of her in the most extreme terms of
praise, and for the present she is the greatest creature in the
greatest city in the civilized world ! "
She had made engagements in Liverpool, Birmingham,
Manchester, Edinburgh, and Dublin, but had to give them
up because she could not get away from London.
50 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
Under date of May 1 she writes : —
''I have just returned from the theatre, after acting the
new play for the second time.* It has not succeeded ; but my
word was pledged to do it, and I have kept my word. It may,
perhaps, do me some little injiuy, but I can afford a trifle,
and my next play will bring me up. I am tired ; I have
acted four times this week, and I act to-morrow night again.
Everything goes on finely; I am doing well, and I hope
my star may continue in the ascendant. I have given myself
five yean more, and I think at the end of that time I will have
$ 50,000 to retire upon ; that will, if well invested, give us a
comfortable home for the rest of our lives, and a quiet comer
in some respectable graveyard."
A letter of May 18, 1845, is, I grieve to say, the last
of this series, as her mother and family joined her shortly
after. In it she says : —
** This brings you good news. My manager will not give
me up at the end of my engagement, but insists on my going
on. The houses continue very fine, and the people are more
and more pleased. The idea of acting an engagement of
forty-seven nights in seven old plays, and being called out
every night, then to have one's engagement renewed for
thirty nights more, is a thing that would astonish the natives
on the side of the world you inhabit now, but which I hope
won't hold you long. I assure you I have reason to be more
than proud, not only of my success, but of the very kind man-
ner I am treated in private. In fact, I have no moment to
myself; and really when I want to write I have to deny my-
self to my friends, and a constant round of invitations pursues
me for all the time I can command."
Of the ordinary newspaper notices of this period a
very few extracts will suffice ; and it would almost seem
* This was a play by Mr. Jamee Kenny, called ** Infatoation."
HEE LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 51
superfluous to give place to them here, if they were not
history, and as such not to be entirely disr^arded.
Of Miss Cushman's first appearance in London in the
tragedy of " Fazio " the Times says : —
''The great oharacteristics of Miss Cushman are her ear-
nestness, her intensity, her quick apprehension of 'read-
ings,' her power to dart from emotion to emotion with the
greatest rapidity, as if carried on by impulse alone. The
early part of the play affords an audience no criterion of what
an actress can do ; but from the instant where she suspects
that her husband's affections are wavering, and with a flash
of horrible enlightenment exclaims, 'Fazio, thou hast seen
Aldobella ! ' Miss Cushman's career was certain. The variety
which she threw into the dialogue with her husband — from
jealousy dropping back into tenderness, from hate passing to
love, while she gave an equal intensity to each successive
passion, as if her whole soul were for the moment absorbed
in that only — was astonishing, and yet she always seemed to
feel as if she had not done enough. Her utterance was more
and more earnest, more and more rapid, as if she hoped the
very force of the words would give her an impetus. The
crowning effort was the supplication to Aldobella, when the
wife, falling on her knees, makes the greatest sacrifice of her
pride to save the man she has destroyed. Nothing could ex-
ceed the determination with which, lifting her clasped hands,
she urged her suit, — making offer after offer to her proud
rival, as if she could not give too much, and feared to reflect
on the value of her concessions, — till at last, repelled by the
cold marchioness, and exhausted by her own passion, she
sank huddled into a heap at her feet Of the whole after
part of the drama, which was distinguished throughout by
a sustained energy, this was her great triumph. We need
hardly say that Miss Cushman is likely to prove a great ac-
quisition to the London stage. For passion, real, impetuous
irresistible passion, she has not at present her superior. At
52 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
the end of the play Miss Cushman, who had acted throughout
with the greatest applause, came forward and was received
with showers of bouquets ; never were bouquets more richly
merited."
The allusion in this article to the grand culmination
of the scene with Aldobella, when she sinks in a broken
heap at her feet, will remind many friends of Miss Cush-
man's own description of the incident : how she was so
completely overcome and prostrated, not only by the pas-
sion of the scene, but by the nervous agitation of the
occasion, that she could not for a time recover possession
of herself, and the thunders of applause which burst out
and continued cheer upon cheer were more than wel-
come, as giving her a moment's breathing-space. When
at last she rose up and slowly regained her feet, the
scene she beheld was one she could never after forget, or
faU to recall without the same thrill of excitement. The
audience were standing, some on the benches, waving
hats and handkerchiefs ; and, as the Times says, " Miss
Cushman's career was certain."
Of the same occasion the London Sun says : —
'^ Since the memorable first appearance of Edmund Eean
in 1814, never has there been such a d^but on the boards of
an English theatre. She is, without exception, the very first
actress that we have. True, we have ladylike, accomplished,
finished artists; but there is a wide and impassable gulf
between them and Miss Cushman, — the gulf which divides
talent, even of the very highest order, from genius. That
godlike gift is Miss Cushman's, strictly speaking. We know
that it is usual on these occasions to enter into a critical
notice of the various beauties developed by a debutante; but
were we to attempt this, our space would be, in the first place,
too limited, for we should have to transcribe nearly the whole
part 3 and^ in the next place, we will flEdrly acknowledge that
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 53
we were so completely carried away by the transcendent genius
of this gifted lady that, after the magnificent scene in the sec-
ond act, we could not criticise, we could only admire."
From the London Herald of the same date we have
the following : —
" Miss Cushman is tall and commanding, haying a fine stage
figure. The expression of her face is curious, reminding us of
Macready, — a suggestion still further strengthened by the
tones of her voice, and frequently by her mode of speech. But
that is nothing ; she soon proved that she was a great artist
on her own account; that she not only possessed peculiar
sensitiveness, but that she had all the tact and efficiency re-
sulting from experience. Her energy never degenerated into
bombast, and rarely was she artificial There are several
situations in the tragedy requiring the most consummate skill
on the part of the actress to render them fully efiective, and
she achieved at each successive point a fresh triumph. Her
tenderness is beautifully energetic and impassioned, while her
violence, such as when the sentiment of jealousy suddenly
crosses her, is broad and overwhelming, but at the same time
not overdone. Miss Cushman is altogether a highly accom-
plished actress, and it may be easily foreseen that her career
m this country will be a most brilliant one."
The versatility of Miss Cushman's powers was next
shown to the world of London by her assumption of the
part of Rosalind. There are, however, many and most
favorable notices of her Lady Macbeth, which I do not
quote because her countiy-people know so well all her
excellences in that part they can learn nothing new about
it Li Bosalind she seems to have given unbounded
satisfaction. From many enthusiastic tributes, I select
the following: —
*' On Thursday night Miss Cushman gave us the first oppor-
tunity of seeing her in a Shakespearian character, — the sweet,
54 CHABLOITE CUSHMAM:
meny, mocking, deep-feeling, true, loving Rosalind, whose
heart and head are continuallj playing at cross purposes ;
whose wit is as quick to scout and scoff at the tender passion
as her heart is ready to receive it, who flies from tenderness to
taunting, and back again, as quickly as a bird from bough to
bough ; who puts on her wit as she does her boy's dress, as a
defence against an enemy she kno?rs to be too strong for her.
Whilst under her womanly guise the Rosalind of Miss Cushman
was a high-bred though most gentle and sweet-tempered lady,
with the mirthful spirit which nature had given to her saddened
by the misfortunes of herself and &ther. But, with the indig-
nant reply which she makes to the duke her uncle, on being
banished as a traitor, this phase of her character disappears.
No sooner is the plan of flight conceived and resolved upon,
and the words uttered,—
* Were it not better,
BecauM that I am more than common tall.
That 1 did suit me all points like a man f '
than all sadder thoughts disappear, to make room for the over-
flowing spirits of the woman. Love itself is put as a mark to
be shot at by wit ; or rather it is love that arms wit against
itself, and gives it all its point.
"But we hear some one say, ' You are speaking of Rosalind,
instead of the lady who enacted the part on Thursday night.'
We beg to say it is one and the same thing. If ever we
looked upon, heard, conceived Rosalind, it was upon that
occasion. If ever we listened to the playful wit, the sweet
mocking, the merry laugh of Rosalind, if ever we saw her
graceful form, her merry eye, her arched brows, her changing
looks, it was then and there. Mrs. Nesbit's Rosalind was a
sweet piece of acting, full of honey ; Madame Yestris's Rosa-
lind is all grace and coquetry ; Miss Helen Faucit's (by far
the best of them) is full of wit, mirth, and beauty. But Miss
Cushman wcu Rosalind. These were all water-colors ; but
Miss Cushman's Rosalind is in oils, with such brilliancy of
light and shade, with such exquisitely delicious touches of
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIEa 55
nature and art, with such richness of variety and perfect con-
gruity, that if we did not see Shakespeare's * very Rosalind,'
we never hope or wish to do so. We must confess that, after
seeing Miss Cushman in Bianca and Mrs. Haller, we thought
her genius essentially tragic 3 and had we seen her only in
Bosalmd, we should have thought it essentially comic. But
the fact is, as with Shakespeare himself, and most other great
poets, the highest genius necessarily embraces both elements
of tragic and comic
" Miss Cushman's features, if they are deBcient in regular
beauty, have that flexibility which makes every expression nat-
ural to them, and causes them to reflect each thought which
passed through the author's brain as he drew the character.
Never did we hear Shakespeare's language more perfectly enun-
ciated. Not a syllable was lost, and each syllable was a note.
The beauties of the author were as clear, as transparent, as
though the thoughts themselves, instead of the words which
are their vehicles, were transfused through the senses ; eye,
ear, heart, took them in, in that perfect form in which they
were conceived.
'^ We may seem extravagant in our praise to those who have
not seen Miss Cushman, not to those who have seen her ; and
we trust she will repeat the part of Rosalind before she leaves
us
" It struck us as a circumstance contrasting with the effect
ordinarily produced by stars upon the general corps drama-
tique^ that all seemed to play better with Miss Cushman than
they would otherwise have done. The atmosphere of her
genius embraced the whole stage, and was not limited to her-
self. A few such women or men of equal stamp (would we
had them !) would work a notable revolution in the English
stage."
Another notice of her Rosalind says : —
" By her performance last night Miss Cushman has discov-
ered a new talent. Intensity of emotion, rapid, impetuous
56 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
transitions from passion to passion, she had exhibited in the
three tragedies that have been presented. But it remained to
be seen how she would excel in a character in which light,
graceful comedy is required, and which calls forth no one of
those qualities by which she had previously gained her public.
" In this, her new trial, she has been nyost successful, and, if
her former achievements were triumphs' of enei^, this was a
triumph of intelligence. By th« ease with which she assumed
the character she showed how thoroughly she appreciated it :
a playful vivacity dictated her words, the * points * fell readily
from her lips ; her Rosalind was no empty convention, but a
living, breathing, laughing, joyous reality. Yet not all joyous ;
she shaded the part with nice discrimination. The delicacy
with which she first addressed Orlando, when she rewarded
him with the chain and spoke as if with difficulty overcoming
a scruple, was chaste and maidenlike, and was well followed up
by her hurrying back to Celia at the words, 'Shall we go,
coz 1 ' The rapidity and anxiety of the questions with which
she first ajsks for Orlando in the forest come out with great
effect from the state of nonchalance which had preceded them.
£ven her song bears witness to her intelligence. She threw
into it such a spirit of mirth and vivacity that it told immis-
takably upon the audience. But the charm of charms in
this impersonation is the hearty sweetness of her laugh ; it is
contagious from its very sweetness ; she seems to laugh fi*om
her very soul as she bandies about her jests and makes the
love-lorn Orlando the butt of her pretty malicious pleasantries.
And even as she feels it, so does her audience. In this part
of the play her acting is a great treat to all lovers of art for
its truthfulness and its thorough sincerity, and all through
the performance she received and well merited the unbounded
and unanimous applause of every person present.''
In another notice of the same part I find the follow-
ing:—
" Now, what is the secret of Miss Cushman's success in char-
acters so widely differing from each other as Bianca, Lady
HER UFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 57
Macbeth, and Rosalind 1 It is earnestness. She is earnest
in whatever she undertakes. She thinks nothing of indiyidual
self, but everything of that other self with which for the time
she is identified, so that she becomes the very character which
she represents ; and no actor or actress who does not possess
this power can ever become great.'*
Other notices of Mrs. Haller, Beatrice, etc. are in the
same tone of unqualified enthusiasm ; each part in suc-
cession more warmly received than the last, as she grows
in public favor. Apropos of Mrs. Haller, she used to tell
with much amusement how her performance of it had
affected Mr. Louis Blanc, at that time a political refugee
in London, and one of her warm friends. After seeing
it first, he had no command of English in which to ex-
press Ids appreciation ; but long afterwards, when he had
achieved the language, he said to her, " Miss Cushman, I
assure you I never have c-r-i-e-d so much in all my life.**
He had a very large mouth, and rolled his r*8 tremen-
dously, and her imitation of him was inimitable. I make
no apology for reproducing here these extracts from the
English papers referring to her first performances there.
They are interesting and valuable now as showing how
the first verdict justified the last, and how thorough and
sincere was the EngUsh estimate of her powers.
With these manifestations of public approbation it is
needless to say that private appreciation held equal meas-
ure. She secured and held the warm esteem and friend-
ship of the most distinguished literary and artistic per-
sonages of the day. Verses were written, pictures painted,
in her honor. Miss Eliza Cook was a devoted friend, and
celebrated her friendship in many fervid lines. The poet
Bogers sought her out early, and was most kind in pro-
curing for her the pleasure of meeting all that was best
in the social world of London* She often spoke of those
58 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK :
famous breakfasts, made expressly for her, when she was
permitted to name those whom she particularly wished
to meet, and who were accordingly summoned by this
enchanter, whose wealth and celebrity made him a potent
influence in that potent world.
Of course, after such pronounced success in London,
her career in the provinces was a foregone conclusion.
She had made engagements at Brighton, Hull, Manches-
ter, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Glasgow, etc.; but, before
starting upon this tour, she took a furnished cottage at
Bayswater, one of the suburbs of London, and established
there her family, whom, immediately that she felt her
success assured, she had summoned from America. It
was there that she and her sister Susan studied " Eomeo
and Juliet" together. They afterwards went for a few
nights to Southampton, where they made their first essay
in this performance, which afterwards became so famous
and created such a furore in England.
Miss Cushman opened her second engagement in
London at the Haymarket Theatre, December 30, 1845,
when the sisters made their first appearance together in
Shakespeare's tragedy of "Eomeo and Juliet" There
were many difficulties and vexations behind the scenes
in consequence of their determination to act the play
according to the original version of Shakespeare instead
of the ordinary acting play with which the company were
familiar. It may be supposed they resented what they
considered an assumption of superiority on the part of
these "American Indians," as they called the Misses
Cushman, and they made themselves disagreeable accord-
ingly ; so much so that Mr. Webster, the manager of the
theatre, was obliged to put up a notice in the green-room
that any lady or gentleman who made any difficulty or
objection to carrying out the wishes of the Misses Cush-
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 59
man was welcome to leave the theatre. This tone, how-
ever, was very soon changed when the seal of success
was stamped upon their effort, and soon the unanimous
verdict of the whole community brought the malcontents
to better and wiser conclusions. They were destined to
become sufficiently familiar with the Shakespearian ver-
sion, for the tragedy was acted upwards of eighty nights
in London alone, and afterwards pursued the same career
of almost unexampled success in the provinces, — an
unprecedented fact in those times.
Although Miss Cushman's early training as a "utility
actress "at the Park Theatre had obliged her to make her-
self familiar with many male parts, it was not her choice
to represent such, and notably in the case of this famous
impersonation. She was led to her choice of this play as
the one in which to present her sister to an English
audience, by her strong desire to be enabled to support
her fittingly hersell In her own plays there were few
characters in which her sister could appear, or only such
in which the standard of position to which she had
attained would have to be lowered by her personation of
them. By acting Bomeo herself, she would add to her
sister's attraction, secure her success, and give her that
support which it would be difficult otherwise to obtain.
It is well known that there is no character in the whole
range of the drama so difficult to find an adequate repre-
sentative for as Bomeo. When a man has achieved the
experience requisite to act Bomeo, he has ceased to be
young enough to look it ; and this discrepancy is felt to be
unendurable in the yoimg, passionate Bomeo, and detracts
much from the interest of the play. Who could endure
to see a man with the muscles of Forrest, or even the keen
intellectual face of Macready, in the part of the gallant
and loving boy ?
60 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
Her assumption of it seemed to fill all the needs at
once, — maturity of powers, with gentleness and grace of
deportment; and yet, with the inimitable mvoir faire
which belonged to her, she was enabled to throw into it
enough of manliness and chivalrous gallantry of demeanor
to make the vraiseniblance perfect, as it proved in the
estimation of the public, who received and accepted the
unusual combination with delighted enthusiasm.
The newspaper comments upon this performance are
very curious, as showing how completely it took the
heart of London and all England by storm. Miss Susan
Cushman's success was very marked, thou^^h there can be
little doubt whose ^lan cLied the piecf along its tri-
umphant course. The Times says : —
'' It ifl enough to say that the Romeo of Miss Cushman is
far superior to any Romeo we have ever had. The distinction
is not one of degree, it is one of kind. For a long time Romeo
has been a convention. Miss Cushman's Romeo is a creation ;
a living, breathing, animated, ardent human being. The
memory of play-goers will call up Romeo as a collection of
speeches, delivered with more or less eloquence, not as an
individual Miss Cushman has given the vivifying spark,
whereby the fragments are knit together and become an
organized entirety All the manifestations of Romeo's
disposition were given with absolute truth, and the one soul
was recognizable through them all. Miss Cushman looks
Romeo exceedingly well ; her deportment is frank and easy ;
she walks the stage with an air of command ; her eye beams
with animation. In a word, Romeo is one of her grand suo-
cesses."
From Doyd's Weekly Messenger we extract the follow-
ing:—
" Miss Cushman's Romeo must henceforth be ranked among
her best performances. It was admirably conceived. Every
HER UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 61
floene was warm and animated, and at once conyeyed the im-
pression of the character. There was no forced or elaborate
attempt at feeling or expression. You were addressed by the
whole mind ; passion spoke in every feature, and the illusion
was forcible and perfect Miss Cushman*s particular excel-
lence was in the scene with the Friar, and the concluding
scenes of the tragedy. We never saw these scenes so justly
conceived or so vigorously executed. The judgment was
satisfied and the fancy delighted : they had the excellence of
all art Miss Cushman's talents are certain of commanding
success in every character in which vigorous and predominant
passion are to be delineated. She is temperate, but never
tame ; her acting always rouses the feelings without offending
the taste. She is the best actress that has appeared upon the
English stage since the days of Miss O'NieL"
Another weekly discourses of this performance as fol-
lows: —
'' Monday introduced us to such a Romeo as we had never
ventured to hope for. Certainly, in reading the tragedy
feelings of quiet discontent with certain stage renderings
often came across us, and a vague idea that if an artist with
some faith in his heart as well as in his art should tiy the
character of Romeo, work might be wrought with other hearts.
But we had not dreamed of so early an outstripping of all
our hopes. The glowing reality and completeness of Miss
Cushman*s performance perhaps produces the strength of the
impression with which she sends us away. The character,
instead of being shown us in a heap of di^ecta membra is
exhibited by her in a powerful light which at once displays
the proportions and the beauty of the poet's conception. It is
as if a noble symphony, distorted, and rendered unmeaning
by inefficient conductors, had suddenly been performed under
the hand of one who knew in what time the composer intended
it should be taken. Yet this wonderful completeness, though
it may produce upon the public the effect of all high art, that
62 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
of concealing the means by which it ifl obtained, ought not to
render the critic unmindful of Miss Cushman's labors in detail
These should be pointed out, not to diminish, but on the con-
trary to increase, by explaining her triumph. For had her
superb conception not been seconded by the utmost exactitude
of execution, the effect would have failed. Of this, however,
there was no lack, nor is it for us to estimate the pains of a
process by which so finished a work was achieved. It is for
us merely to record that no symptoms of carelessness or haste
appeared, no sentiment was slurred over or half comprehended,
no passage slighted as of small importance. The intensity
with which the actress has seized the character is grounded
upon too reverent an appreciation of its creator's genius to
allow her to sit in judgment on the means he has chosen for
the accomplishment of his own purpose. The restoration of
the plot and text of Shakespeare (thankfully as we receive it)
is a part only of this demonstration of the honor in which he
is held by the most admirable of his modem illustrators. It
breathes through every line of the performance.
'' All Miss Cushman's stage business is founded upon intel-
lectual ideas, and not upon conventionalisms ; but it is also
most effective in a theatrical light Her walk and attitudes
are graceful ; the manner in which the courtesy of the stage
is given is very high-bred ; her fencing is better than skilful,
because it is appropriate. Tybalt is struck dead as lightning
strikes the pine ; one blow beats down his guard, and one
lunge closes the fray ; indignation has for a moment the soul
of Romeo. With Paris there is more display of swordsman-
ship : he falls by the hand of the lover when ' as fixed, but far
too tranquil for despair ' ; and the gestures, eloquent as words,
in the garden scene, and the piteous lingering over the body
of Juliet, are portions of the performance which are not likely
to pass away from the memory of the spectator, who was com-
pelled in the former to share the lover's enthusiasm, in the
latter his agony."
Among these notices of Miss Ciishman's Borneo I find
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 63
the following warm and appreciative testimonial from
James Sheridan Knowles, the well-known dramatist : —
'' I witnessed with astonishment the Romeo of Miss Cush-
man. Unanimous and lavish as were the encomiums of the
London press, I was not prepared for such a triumph of pure
genius. You recollect, perhaps, Eean's third act of Othello.
Did jou ever expect to see anything like it again ! I never
did, and yet I saw as great a thing last Wednesday night in
Bomeo's scene with the Friar, after the sentence of banish-
ment^ quite as great I I am almost tempted to go further.
It was a scene of topmost passion ; not simulated passion, —
no such thing ; real, palpably real ; the genuine heartnstorm
was on, — on in wildest fitfulness of fiuy ; and I listened and
gazed and held my breath, while my blood ran hot and cold.
I am sure it must have been the case with every one in the
house ; but I was all absorbed in Romeo, till a thunder of
applause recalled me to myself. I particularize this scene
because it is the most powerful, but every scene exhibited
the same truthfulness. The first scene with Juliet, for in-
stance, admirably personated by her beautiful sister, was ex-
quisitely faithful, — the eye, the tone, the general bearing, —
everything attesting the lover smit to the core at first sight,
and shrinkingly and falteringly endeavoring, with the aid of
palm and eye and tongue, to break his passion to his idol.
My heart and mind are so fiiU of this extraordinary, most
extraordinary performance, that I know not where to stop or
how to go on. Throughout it was a triumph equal to the
proudest of those which I used to witness years ago, and for
a repetition of which I have looked in vain till now. There
is no trick in Miss Cushman's performance ; no thought, no
interest, no feeling, seems to actuate her, except what might
be looked for in Romeo himself were Romeo reality."
Their appearance in this tragedy was due to an act of
concession on the part of the Dublin manager, Mr. Cal-
craft, who waived Ins rights to allow of its production in
64 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
Londoa Almost immediately afterwards they left Lon-
don to fulfil their engagements in the provinces, acting
first in Dublin a six weeks* engagement, in the course
of which they played "Eomeo and Juliet,*' and "Ion,**
and Miss Cushman's usual round of characters. They
also played "Twelfth Night *' together, Miss Cushman tak-
ing the part of Viola. There are numerous enthusiastic
notices of these performances in the provinces ; but it is
sufficient for my purpose to have given those which
marked the great success in London, the verdict there
making the result elsewhere certain.
She was a special favorite with the Dublin audiences,
and with the Irish people generally, and made many
warm and devoted friends in the green island. They
felt in sympathy with all that was genial and impul-
sive in her nature, and friends will remember hearing
her often say that nowhere, in all her experience, did she
find the magnetic spark of sympathy so quickly and
readily enkindled as with her Irish audiences. But why
should we say that in one place more than another Miss
Cushman succeeded in touching the hearts of her audi-
ences ; the potent spell lay in her, and between her and
the beating heart of humanity, which all the world over
is lying in wait, as it were, for the magnetic touch, the
winged word, "the spark as of fire from the altar,** which,
as it kindles, makes the whole world kin.
I may recall here one or two of the Irish stories with
which Miss Cushman used "to bring down the house,*'
privately, for the entertainment of her friends and guests.
She would have been a wonderful linguist if the means
of educating her great faculties had been accorded her in
early life ; as it was, she had the greatest gift for speaking
" broken tongues '* and dialects ever heard. The brogue not
only came natural to her, but she knew how to distinguish
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 65
between the accents of different parts of Ireland, and often
puzzled the natives themselves to discover whether she
came from the north or the south. One of our dear Irish
friends in Kome, a noble specimen of the true Irish gen-
tlewoman, never talked anything but the brogue with
Miss Cushman, and as she was uncommonly witty and
clever, the contact of their wits on these occasions struck
out many a bright spark. It was the same with the
Scotch, the German, and even the Italian; and her
I>ower over the negro dialect would have set up endless
troops of negro minstrels. Many will recall her masterly
rendering of Bums in ''A Man 's a Man for a' That,''
" The Annuity," and that wonderful effort, " The Death
of the Old Squire," as weU as " The SwivH Eights Bill."
and others of her comic selections. But she had, beside
these, an inexhaustible supply of such bits of drollery,
with which she used "to set the table in a roar," and
which she enjoyed herself to the fuU as much as they
did.
On one occasion, when she was acting in Dublin, she
started out with the intention of taking a short drive, and
called up one of the cabs in waiting, near her hotel It
was what is called, in Dublin parlance, " an outside car,"
that is, an open vehicle with the seat running sideways
over the wheels. There was a little look of rain in the
air, and she said to the man, "Do you think it will rain ?"
"Divil a dhrop," said he promptly. "Well, remember
now, if it rains I will not pay you," said she. "Hop
up," was the answer. After they had gone a short dis-
tance a large drop of rain splashed upon her silk dress.
She touched his arm. " Look here," said she, " what do
you call that ? " " 0, that 's nothing at alL" " Faith,
I '11 be dhrounded," said Miss Cushman, in the broadest
Dublin brogue. Cabby looked at her out of the comer
66 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
of his eye. It was enough; the sympathetic note had
been struck^ and he poured forth endless stores of fun
and drollery all the rest of the drive^ answering all her
questions instantly, right or wrong, true or false, with a
ready wit peculiarly Irish. As they passed the post-
office, Miss Cushman pointed to some statues on the top
of the building, and asked him what they were. " Faith,
thim's the twelve apostles," said he. "But there are
only four of them," said Miss Cushman; "where are the
others?" "Faith," said paddy, "they must be below,
sortin' the letthers."
On another occasion she asked one of the car drivers,
" What is the difference between an outside and an in-
side car?" "The difference," said he, — "the difference?
Well, sure, it 's just this ; an inside car has its wheels on
the outside, and an outside car has 'em on the inside" ;
which is as true a definition as could be devised
Another Irish incident she used to tell was the follow-
ing. During one of her engagements in Dublin a very
full house had assembled ; the Lord Lieutenant was coming
in state ; there had been excitement over certain elections,
and party spirit ran high. The audience amused itself
before the opening of the play by calling out for cheers for
this, that, and the other, shouting for some, groaning for
others, and making great disturbance; so much so that
the play could not be heard There were fears that it
might end in rioting. Suddenly, in the midst of the con-
fusion a voice called out, " Three cheers for the divil ! "
Upon which name both parties united with hearty enthu-
siasm, and peace was restored.
The Dublin audiences were very turbulent, very enthu-
siastic, and much given to uttering their thoughts and
feelings aloud, from pit to gallery, and often to the per-
formers on the staga One night a sudden disturbance
HSB LIFE^ LETTEBSy AKD MSMOBIES.
67
occurred among the gods, and could not be easily quieted.
Of course the pit took the matter in hand ; much wit was
bandied about, up and down, and as in old pagan times
a victim was demanded. "Tlirow him over, throw him
over ! " resounded from all sides. Suddenly, in a lull of
the confusion, a delicate female voice was heard exclaim-
ing in dulcet tones, " 0, no, don't throw him over, kill
him where he is T'
>c\r^.
CHAPTER IV.
" Then ii no aoul
Hon (trtmgaT to direct 7011 Ouu jonrMlr."
HtMf vin.
"ThoM iboDt her.
From her ihill nad tha peifwt myt of hoDor."
Bmrv nil.
IX March, 1847, the aistera commenced their pro-
vincial tour by acting an eng^ment of six
weeks in Dublin, afterwards going to Birming-
ham, Manchester, Leeds, Hull, Newcastle, Sheffield, Brigh-
ton, Edinburgh, Ghisgow, Cork, Limerit^, Dundee, Perth,
etc., closing at liverpool, where they made a visit at
Seaforth Hall, the seat of Mr. James Muspratt, whose
son, Dr J. Sheridan Muspratt, Miss Susan Cushman (or
Mrs. Merriman) afterwards married.
They also made during this season a short excoraion to
Paris, and it was at this time Miss Cushman made the
acquaintance of Mr. Henry F. Choriey, the well-known
dramatic and musical critic of the Athenteum, a man much
respected for his unbendii^ int^rity as a critic, as well
as for his sterling qualities as a man. He was a warm
friend to Miss Cushman, and continued so to the day of
his death. Some extracts from his letters referring to
this period may not be uninteresting. Hers to him have,
unfortunately, not been preserved.
In a letter dated April, 1847, we find the first allusion
HEB LIFE, LSITEBS, AND MEMORIES. 69
to his play, " The Duchess Eleanor," which Miss Cush-
man afterwards acted in, but which did not prove a suc-
cess. Miss Cushman is at Malvern, recruiting from the
fatigues of her two seasons ; and he says : —
"Keep yourself tranquilly, hopefully, in lavender, both
mind and body, and get as much rest, health, and strength, as
you can. When you come again to London you are right in
thinking that you must come wett. A more unpropitious sea-
son than this could not have been, and it is just as well that
the play was not tried, though I b^n to think I shall never
have the agreeable misery of seeing anything of mine acted,
beyond some sort of a namby-pamby opera translation. It is
charming to get old, because one has no longer high-raised
expectations.^
Another letter of this period is from Switzerland, and
fixes Miss Cushman's locality as still at Malvern, where
she was in the habit of going whenever suffering from
overwork or nervous exhaustion, and always with great
benefit : —
" I have been more enchanted than I expected with Swit-
zerland. When one has heard much of any sight, as of any
person, spiritual pride is apt to say, ' After all, the thing is
not worth so very much.' This poor country has, perhaps
beyond all others, been given over as a prey to travelling
men, women, and children. But, though the weather has been
wretched and the season much too late, I have had very great
enjoyment. To describe is impossible. There are only some
few bits of Byron here and there, among all that has been
written, which in the slightest manner approach the grandeur
of the reality. Perhaps, if we are so happy as to have a cosey
London winter near each other, bits of scenery and wayside
adventure may come out in talk, such as shall even match
our rummages of the shops or the theatres in our never-to-
be-foigotten holiday of October last.
70 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
" I must tell joQ that at Veyay I fell into the oompanj of
Mrs. TroUope, who was wonderfully mystified to discover what
manner of animal I was, and I must say was yery agree-
able. We had also three charming days with Mendelssohn at
luterlaken, and, in short, have not lacked entertainment,
though, owing to the weather, with not precisely as many
snow mountains for breakfast, glaciers for dinner, and lakes
for tea as we would bespeak when setting out for a Swiss
ramble.
*' Now, in the hope of our pleasant meeting in late October
(as I am booked for the 15th), let me provoke you and Mrs.
M f wind and Maddox permitting, to dine with me on
Gunpowder Treason Day, November 5, when my house opens
its doors and cries, ' Chorley at home again.' **
" Need I say how heartily I wish and hope that this may
find you better for the cold 'water privileges' you are ei\]oy-
ing; and the hot water ditto which I must undeigo if * Duchess
Elinor ' at last comes to a hearing) This is not a letter, the
wisest of queens will please to observe, but merely a card of
inquiry from one who hopes to prove himself,'* eta
On the subject of the play he says in a later letter : —
<< As to seeing Mr. Maddox, do you know I think it would
be for every one's best that I should be the mam behind
the cloude. Since you and I understand each other so com-
pletely that I have no earthly fear of the affair not being safer
in your hands than mine, and I will work morning, noon, and
night and midnight, till you are contented. My disinclina-
tion means no avoidance of labor or responsibility, but a con-
viction that my being known is more likely to hinder than to
help the success of the piece. I don't think much of the work
myself, save in seeing the confidence with which it inspires
you, and from believing the time is come when the public
would like to have a play for a great woman. Therefore, just
tium this over in your mind, whether it would not be better
for you to say that you will see the royal author on Sunday,
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIEa 71
who is ready to make such changes as Queen Cushman and
Manager Maddox may agree upon, but for many reasons is
anxious to blush unseen until his fate is ascertained. But I
leave everything at your disposal and discretion. Hoping to
find a note to say that you are coming to eat Heaven knows
what this day week at my octagon table at five o'clock," etc.
Later on, October 23, he writes : —
^'Thanks for your note, and for your steady efforts to see
justice done to the Duchess. In my case, beyond the certain
fidget which, be a man hard as a stone, will from time to time
wear one when the matter has been so long protracted, I feel
little in the affair save the encouragement of your great kind-
ness, which I take as encouragement, inasmuch as it is not
phrasing, but must be sincere from the nature and manner of
its manifestations.''
On October 28 he writes : —
'* Had I not found your note on coming home fix)m the the-
atre, I must have written to you after the Queen Katharine,
which I went to see quietly. Tou are wholly wrong to fancy
that the part does not do you good^ and you good to the part.
What will you say when I tell you that it has given me a
higher idea of your power than any I have yet seen you actt
I like it all, conception, execution, everything. I like the
plainness, the simplicity, and the utter absence of all strain or
solemnity.
'*Tou know I am difficult, and little given to praising any
one. Most of all was I delighted to hear how your level voice,
when not forced, tells, and tells thoroughly. Now believe I
don't say this to put you in good-humor, or for any other rea-
son than because it is honest and must come !
''As for the critics, remember that from time immemorial
they have been always, at first, unjust to new and natural
readings. The house shows how little harm or good they do,
and of its humor there was no doubt ; though people who
72 CHARLOTTE CUSmCAN :
have been wiping tbeir eyes on apricot-colored bonnet-fttrings,
as I saw one young lady of nature doing, can't find time or
coolness to applaud as tbey ougbt In short, I was pleased,
mnch pleased, and shall tell you yet more about the same when
I see youy and I am truly glad for your own sake you bare
played the part. A and I were two sitting notes of admi-
ration ; be is going to write one also. I believe I saw the
angelic manager hovering on the stairs ; but I don't think he
knows me if he sees me, or I would let my beard grow again
as fast as possible, and dye it black, by way of mystification."
From some undated notes : —
'* I write to you immediately on hearing from the Neigh-
bourinay to say that I hope you will dine with me on Sunday
week, with Mrs. M , if she shall so please, as it will be
merely a business dinner, and myself will only arrive late on
Saturday evening. There can be no truffles, alas ! nor sar-
cophagus puddings ; only bones to pick, and greetings to ex-
change, and measures to be taken that the Duchess be written
neither smaller nor taller than the pleasant public shall please.
My first impulse was to pack up soul and body immediately
on receiving yours. Then it occurred to me that all the week
you will be busy at rehearsal, and that probably the day I
mention may be the earliest you could really devote to our
affair ; so that I am acting, I hope, for the best against my
impatience in thus bidding you to a conference eight days
hence."
In default of Miss Cushman's own letters of this period,
which have been, through lapse of time and combination
of circumstances, unfortunately lost or destroyed, I have
thought it best to introduce any letters written to her
having any value in themselves, which have come into
my hands, believing that nothing can be unimportant
which illustrates even incidentally a career like hers.
"The Duchess Elinor" was not produced until Miss
Cushman's return to England in 1855.
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 73
For the year 1848 there are few memoranda or letters,
and memory must be invoked for a record of her move-
ments, which were many and varied. The activity of her
life during these English years was amazing, both in the
direction of work and play. It is notable that work
always follows play as a natural and inevitable sequence,
and the social relaxation which was so necessary, and
which she enjoyed with her whole heart, never absorbed
her to the extent of making her forget her duties to her
art or to her family. We have brief records of delightful
tours into all the most lovely parts of England, almost
always undertaken with or for friends with whom she
wished to share the pleasure of the excursioa She never
could and never did, in all the course of her life, enjoy
anything alone or selfishly; and such friends as have shared
with her these unequalled experiences will remember how
perfect she was as hostess, companion, helper, how ordi-
nary diflftculties cleared away before her, how rough places
became smooth and bright spots brighter under her genial
influence. It has been well said that a sincere desire to
give pleasure was her chief characteristic; it might be
added, to take it also, for she had a real genius for enjoy-
ment ; no one was ever more ready and glad to be pleased,
and to accept with more gracious cordiality the simplest
efiTort to afford her gratification.
In the early part of this year the sisters were acting
together again in the provinces, always with the same
success. On the 10th of July Miss Cushman acted
" Queen Katharine " for Mr. Macready's farewell benefit
at Drury Lane Theatra The queen was present, and it
was a very grand occasioa After this she went to
Manchester on a visit, and then to Bolton Woods for two
months, stopping at a farm-house on the estate of the
Duke of Devonshire. The duke was then living there at
74 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
one of his hunting-lodges, and was veiy kind to Miss
Cushman, sending his carriage for her to come to luncheon
with him, and showing her many kind attentions.
Among the letters of 1846 - 48 I find some from Miss
Jewsbury, the well-known authoress, who was one of
Miss Gushman's earliest Mends in England. They are
carelessly dated, but belong to the above time. In one
I find the following. Speaking of a dinner-party she
had attended she says: —
*' I did not get next the man laid out for roe, but had for
companion a good Englishman, to whom I had the oomfort of
talking about you. He had never seen you, and for many years
had given up going to theatres, as be is faithful to the memory
of Airs. Siddons and all that generation, and has even pre-
served the playbills. But he talked very well and most en-
thusiastically, and listened to all I said with great faith, and
the next time you come here he is fully purposed to go. We
were settling you the whole dinner-time, and I could not help
laughing to see bow people instinctively find their point of
sympathy. Although he had not been to see you act, he felt
a sympathy with you for what you had done for your family ;
he said he had heard of that, and it happens that all his family
had been thrown on him, and he behaved in a most worthy
way. He was intended for the church, and had a most decided
inclination for it ; but whilst he was at college his father died
in embarrassed circumstances, and this man was obliged to
leave college, and go behind a counter and drudge for years to
retrieve his affairs and bring up the rest of the family, hating
it all the time ; but he did it, and adopted two of his sister's
children beside ; finally made his fortune and retired, and is
extremely respected, as he deserves to be ; and there was your
point of interest to him. He knew what it was you had done,
and could appreciate it.^
In another letter she says : —
" My dear Chablotte : I feel very anxious about you. It
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 75
/seems to me when people have attained your height, the wear
and tear of keeping up is worse than the fatigue of dimhing.
You seem to me in that way in your last. I can understand
how it is, though I am not come to the dignity of feeling it on
my own account. I &ncy it is a good omen ; none but those
able to go on can feel it ; and after a triumph such as you have
achieved it is natural you should feel like a racer after the
course, not up to running again at present ; people never feel
so itrang as after a defeat, nor so weak and trembling as after
a victory, — so little able, I mean, to do more. So, dear, if
you have any fears or misgivings, don't heed them. It is only
a sign that success has not intoxicated you, and that you are
not uncoiled all your length.
" As to what you say of not having been ' up to the mark/
You are not a maehine, but a woman of genius. Nothing is
certain and constant in its action but mechanism, and yet the
best thing done by mechanism is not so valuable as the un-
certain, varying, sometimes imperfect result of human efforts.
What you effect comes from within, and if you were always
' up to the mark,' it would be a great presumption that it was
mechanical, and came from without So do not disturb your-
self for nothing. I have no need to say * (Jo on,* for you are
one of those who cannot help it. Tell me how you go on, for
indeed and indeed I feel for your success more than I ever
could do for my own."
The following extract refers evidently to Miss Gush-
man's first visit to Malvern, which became afterwards
such a favorite resort .
"My dearest Charlotte: I was very glad to get your
note, and to see your handwriting once more. I am very anx-
ious to hear how hydropathy suits you. It is no use saying
anything now, but still I hope you had good medical sanction
before you ventured yourself upon it. My dear child, do per-
suade somebody, from a general sense of good-nature, to write
me a few lines of particuJars concerning your present state.
76 CHARLOTTE CUSHBiAN:
and how 70a get on with the cold water ; they cannot be too
minute. If any old nurse would write I should have a chance
of hearing more than any of your dever ones could think of
saying. I have it ! Give my best regards to your Sallie, and
tell her to write me a letter all about you and nothing else in
nature. I am very grieved that rest has come to you in such
a miserable guise, but it will be the means of saving your life.
You were going on too fast, and now, when you are once set
on your two feet again, you will have gained more power than
if you had never been laid low. Be patient, my dear child,
and don't chafe or fret yourself This rest, thus forced upon
you, will be a quarry out of which you will get many precious
materials.''
Another letter refers still to Malvern, and her anxious
fears for Miss Gushman's health, which had suffered much
from overexertion.
" Mt dearbbt Child : You are in a bad way just now, and
no wonder; you have had enough to drive to distraction a
whole regiment of meny let alone women. But don't distress
yourself too much in your own heart ; your depression and
discouragement, your weariness and vexation of spirit, are in a
great measure the result of all the superhuman exertions you
have had to go through for the last few months. Living in
London society does, under any circumstances, make one ex-
quisitely sad, and you have had it« essence, doubly and trebly
distilled and powerfiiL You must expect, and cannot help but
find, a reaction as strong as the excitement has been. The
life you have led, the success, the acclamations, the perfect
glare of triumph in which you have moved for the last few
months, are almost fabulous. No nervous system that was
ever of woman bom could stand it : you are a perfect miracle
in my eyes ; but you are proving your mortality by suffering.
You will recover your balance, never fear. Set down all the
wretchedness and morbid discomfort you are suffering now
just to physical causes. Think of them just as a headache or
/
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMO&IES. 77
I an illness ; but the present uneasiness is all you have to fear ;
it lies no deeper, believe me, and will pass away. You are
overworked, overstrained altogether, and you look at things
in general as we are apt to do when we lie awake at night ;
everything then looks black and haggard-like ; there is noth-
ing really bad or wrong the matter, so do not make yourself
miserable. It is bad enough to suffer, God knows, but there
is no worse at the bottom, and that 's a comfort You must
contrive not to do so much another year. Your 'passion-
ate work ' will kill you else ; for though nature is very elastic^
\ she won't stand too much. Remember what I am saying
\ is not £uicy, for I have suffered myself, and I have studied
\ the philosophy of the thing, and so I consider I am qualified
to speak, and you are to believe what I tell you. Do you
hearr
\
\
Following Miss Jewsbury's letters I may here insert
some of her remembrances of Miss Gushman at that time,
with which she has kindly favored me. She writes : —
** I think it was veiy soon after she arrived in England for
the first time that she came to Manchester, where I then
resided. She brought letters to me, and was alone, except
for Sallie, her faithful maid, who I hope is still alive, and if
so I beg to be remembered to her kindly. I suppose Miss
Cushman was not handsome, but the beautiful, true, and
finn gray eyes gave me the impression of beauty, and sup-
plied the lack of it, if it were lacking. To me she always
looked beautifuL Her voice, too, was true and real like her-
self and of a tone that was very pleasant to the ear. She
conveyed the impression of protection and strength.
'* In those days she had not yet begun the fight and struggle
of her professional career in England. She had appeared in
London in Milman's tragedy of ' Fazio,' and made a very great
impression. In Manchester she made many friends, quiet,
domestic people, who regarded her with affection and respect.
She was noble and generous, and gave help to whoever needed
78 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN:
it, to the utmost of her ability. As she said once to me her-
self, ' she tried always to keep her prow turned towards good/
and I feel sure that desire underlay the whole of her life.
** We lost sight of each other, as was only natural in lives
which lay so wide apart. The last year she was in England I
wrote to her ; but she was ill, and could not see me. Then
came her apparent recoTery; and then the unexpected end,
when all her Mends had begun to hope the danger was past.
Of her acting in some of her characters I retain a vivid recol-
lection. Her ' Meg Merrilies,' and that strange, silent spring to
the middle of the stage, which was her entrance on it, can
never be foi^tten; nor the tones of her voice, which seemed
to come from another world* Madame Vestris said that ' Meg
Mernlies made her turn cold.' The song she crooned in the
part was exactly as Meg would have given it, and suggested
no other person, and no acting. Indeed, all her characters
were singularly true and individual She never seemed to
display herself in her acting.
** I remember her Mrs. Haller well. She seemed to absorb
and consume all the fiUse sentiment of the play, and to elicit
only the real suffering of the character, and the tragical truth
that nothing can undo iU deeds once done. It was, I think, the
character in which she most impressed ma The chief charm
of her acting was, as I remember it, its intense earnestness
and directness, and the absence of all self-consciousness or of
any desire to impress herself upon the spectator. In those
days she used to sing in private in a very dramatic and re-
markable manner. It is so long ago, that I am afraid I have
been able to help you little ; but I am glad to make my record
of the esteem and affection in which I held her, and of my
admiration for the single-handed strife she carried on and the
uprightness with which she attained at last her fortune and
success. It will be a help and comfort to many who are now
struggling in the same thorny paths."
The above remark may not inappropriately introduce
a few extracts from letters and notes written at this time
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 79
by Miss Cushman to a young friend in England, who
with much ability and ambition, and many material
lets and hindrances, was seeking to find a career, and
afterwards by Miss Cushman's assistance successfully
entered the dramatic professioa They are interesting as
showing what a specialty she had as helper and comforter,
and how well she could minister to the needs of the spirit
as well as of the body, in the midst of her own arduous
labors.
** I knew all you have told me of your oirciunstanoes," she
writes, ** before I spoke to you. Tou will believe, from what I
have told you of my own character and study, that I do not
recklessly waste my feeling ; and when you ask me if I shall
despise you for your employment, you little know the admira-
tion you have excited in me by your capabilities, and I admire
you all the more for not despising it yourselfl How many
there are who have a horror of my profession / Yet I dearly
love the very hard work, the very drudgery of it, which has
made me what I am. Despise labor of any kind ! I honor it»
and only despise those who do not find sufficient value in it to
admire. You did not know me when you asked me if I would
despise you for it ! But you must find little time for praotis-
mg music, — a hard and labor^emanding vocation. I have
tried it myself therefore am fully qualified to speak of it.
Have you calculated the time it must take to fit you for a
teacher, and are you able to give your whole heart to it 1 For,
indeed, it demands it. Your gentleness of disposition will do
much for you in it, for oh ! it requires more patience than
brains. But you have brains of no ordinary kind, that would
be chained into a narrow compass over a piano. How very
many, with no earthly capacity, — mere machines, automata, —
rise to eminence as pianists and teachers of the piano !
** It seems to me a waste of Qod's greatest gift, intellect.
It is not alone poetry that you write well. Yomr notes and
letters are mature, and free from girlishness or mawkish sen-
80 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
timent Tou write as freshly as you think, and your thoughts
are as genuine and fresh as your expression ; and I could
almost grieve over those circumstances which have given you
more confidence in this than in your other gifts. Would not
the time spent upon the study of the piano prove of more
serious benefit to you spent in the study of the poetic art 1
** I have not time even to tell you what I think of your
lines, but I will in a few days. Meantime let me uige you to
condense your thoughts, to bring them all into the fewest
words possible. Concentration is the grand merit of all writ-
ing as well as all action. You have the power in you, and you
will show it.
'' Now that I know your ideas upon the profession you are
preparing yourself for, I have not a word to say. You seemed
to me 'young thoughted.' I imagined it but a fimcy that
possessed you, as likely to bring only pleasure in its employ-
ment. I know the toil it is. I know the wearying work it is
to teach. I know the unceasing and untiring patience it re-
quires, and I feared you had not looked upon all the disagree-
ables. However, I find you have, and you seem to have judged
prudently. But were your situation other than it is, were more
required of you pecuniarily^ I should have advised anything
on earth but teaching as a means of living. Don't let any-
thing that I have said cause you a moment's care with regard
to it. I think I told you in my last that, not knowing your
idea, I was not competent to give an opinion; not for the
world would I interfere with what seems, as you present it to
me, prudent. Yet remembering that, no matter how much
you teach, you must be kept in practice yourself, or you fail to
inspire confidence, I feel you have selected a laborious profes-
sion ; but God speed you, and give you patience, which is aU
that is necessary.
'' I oould wish you would endeavor to bring your poetical
gift more under subjection ; that is, that you would study
more and write less. You say change is necessary to prevent
the mind exhausting itselfl Don't talk at your age of the
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 81
mind being exhausted upon any subject. You have much
before you, and reading can be so varied aa to make a con-
stant change. I cannot tell you how much I admire your
letters, and the free, open thought you express in them. Pray
continue to look upon me as one to whom you may utter all
your thinkings, although I may not be able to afford you all
the help you need in your struggles with yoursel£ Only do
not lacerate your flesh too much."
Here an interval occurs, during which the idea of the
stage as a profession seems to have been adopted. The
following extracts bear reference to this change : —
/ **l should advise you to get to work ; all ideal study of
/acting, without the trial or opportunity of trying our efforts
^ and conceivings upon others, is, in my mind, lost time. Study
/ while you act. Tour conception of character can be formed
while you read your part, and only practice can tell you
whether you are right. You would, after a year of study in
your own room, come out unbenefited, save in as &r as self-
communion ever must make us better and stronger ; but this
is not what you want just now. Action is needed. Your vital-
ity must in some measure work itself off. You must suffer,
labor, and wait, before you will be able to grasp the true and
the beautiful. You dream of it now ; the intensity of life that
is in you, the spirit of poetry which makes itself heard by you
in indistinct language, needs ufork to relieve itself and be made
clear. I feel diffident about giving advice to you, for you
know your own natmre better than any one else can, but I
should say to you, get to work in the best way you can. All
your country work will be wretched; you will faint by the way;
but you must rouse your great strength and struggle on, bear-
ing patiently your cross on the way to your crown ! God bless
you and prosper your undertakings. I know the countiy
theatres well enough to know how utterly alone you will be
in such companies ; but keep up a good heart ; we have only
to do well what is given us to do, to find heaven. .
/
82 CHABi/xm cushmak:
'' Mr. Barton is not in Bath or Bristol now, therefore if yon
were to go you would not be getting what I want you to go
there for, namely, lessons in speaking, — to know the capa-
bilities of your own voice, and how to manage it.''
This is the same Mr. Barton whom she mentions in
her New Orleans experiences as having been kind to her,
and with whom she made her first appearance as an
actress, on the occasion of his benefit Times were
changed with him, as with her, and she was enabled in
many ways substantially to return the kindness he had
shown her.
'' I think if you have to wait for a while it will do you no
harm. Tou seem to me quite frantic for immediate work;
but teach yourself quiet and repose in the time you are
waiting. With half your strength I could bear to wait and
labor with myself to conquer yr«<^m^. The greatest power in
the world is shown in conquest over self. More life will be
worked out of you by fretting than all the stage-playing in
the world. God bless you, my poor child. You have indeed
troubles enough ; but you have a strong and earnest spirit,
and you have the true religion of labor in your heart. There-
fore I have no fears for you, let what will come. Let me
hear from you at your leisure, and be sure you have no
warmer friend than I am and wish to be. ... .
'^ I was exceedingly pleased to hear such an account of your
first appearance. You were quite right in all that was done,
and I am rejoiced at your success. Go on ; persevere. You
will be sure to do what is right, for your heart is in the right
place, your head is sound, your reading has been good. Your
mind is so much better and stronger than any other person's
whom I have known enter the profession, that your career is
plain before you.
'' But I will advise you to remain in your own native town
for a season, or at least the winter. You say you are afraid
of remaining among people who know you. Don't have this
HER LIFE, LETTEB8, AND MEMORIES. 83
feeling at alL You will have to be more particular in what jou
do, and the very feeling that jou cannot be indifferent to your
audience will make jou take more pains. Beside this, you
will be at home, which is much better for a time ; for then
at first you do not have to contend with a strange home as
well as with a strange profession. I could talk to you a
volume upon this matter, but it is difficult to write. At all
events I hope you will take my counsel and remain at home
this winter. It is the most wretched thing imaginable to go
from home a novice into such a theatre as any of those in the
principal towns.
" Only go on and work hard, and you will be sure to make
a good position. With regard to your faults, what shall I say]
Why, that you will try hard to overcome them. I don't think
they would be perceived save by those who perhaps imagine
that your attachment for me has induced you to join the pro-
fession. I have no mannerisms, I hope ; therefore any imita-
tion of me can only be in the earnest desire to do what you
can do, as well as you can. Write to me often ; ask of me
what you will ; my counsel is worth little, but you shall com-
mand it if you need it."
The young friend to whom the forgoing letters were
addressed, after a successful theatrical career of some
years, in the course of which she came to this country
and acted with Miss Cushman, married very happily and
left the stage. She was an earnest, faithful, and true soul,
and her grateful devotion to Miss Cushman remained un-
changed to the day of her death. She died early ; but
while she lived life was a full, bright, and sparkling river
to her, and the finends she brought about her, — Mends
chosen from the best literary and artistic society of London.
Her house was one of Miss Cushman's chosen resting-
places. Her appreciation of it, and of the friends it con-
tained, she has herself recorded in several of her letters.
** I have never known," she says, ** three more soul-satisfying
84 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
days than those at S— D *s. He is the sweetest, whitest
soul m his home you ever saw, and she is goodness and duty
and love personified. Clever and dominant in certain things,
but with a power of submission to him, and all she loves, as
wondrous in these days of toil and trouble as you can imagine
anything to be, and as extraordmary the one as the other.
You don't know how we two grow and thrive in this atmos-
phere. How much as one's own individualities are respected
and loved we are forced by atmosphere to love and respect
theirs. They were three perfect days.*'
It was at this house she first met Mrs. Carlyle, that
wonderful woman, who was able to live in the full light
of Carlyle's genius and celebrity without being over-
shadowed by it ; who was in her own way as great as he,
and yet who lived only to minister to him. In the letter
already quoted Miss Cushman describes her first inter-
view with Mrs. Carlyle: —
" On Sunday, who should come self-invited to meet me but
Mrs. Carlyle ) She came at one o'clock and stayed until eight.
And such a day I have not known ! Clever, witty, calm, cool,
unsmiling, unsparing, a raconteur unparalleled, a manner tin-
imitable, a behavior scrupulous, and a power invincible, — a
combination rare and strange exists in that plain, keen, unat-
tractive, yet unescapable woman ! 0, 1 must tell you of that
day, for I cannot write it ! After she left, of course w6 talked
her untU the small hours of the morning."
After this she often saw Mrs. Carlyle in her own house,
and had the privilege also of seeing the Thunderer him-
self engaged in the mundane process of taking his tea
like any ordinary mortal, and hearing him talk — not like
any other mortal that ever was made, for no creature but
himself could ever say the things he said and in the way
he said them. When in the right mood, and to the right
listeners, Carlyle was greater than his books; for then
HEB UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 85
manner was added to Toatter, and even more characteristic
and individuaL He had a method of talking on and on
and on with a curious rising and falling inflection of
voice, catching his breath now and then on the lower key,
and then going on again in the higher, in the broadest
Scotch accent, and ever and anon giving out peals of the
heartiest laughter over his own extraordinary pictures.
This peculiar manner of speech — the broad accent, the
tremendous, breathless earnestness which he would infuse
into the smallest topic if it were one which anywhere
touched his instincts of reformer — Miss Cushman imi-
tated to perfection.
Meanwhile Ids wife, quiet and silent, assiduously re-
newed his cup of tea, or by an occasional word, or judi-
cious note, struck just at the right moment, kept him
going, as if she wielded the mighty imagination at her
pleasure, and evoked the thunder and the sunshine at her
wilL When she was alone, and herself the entertainer,
one became aware of all the self-abnegation she practised,
for she was herself a remarkably brilliant talker, and the
stories of quaint wit and wisdom which she poured forth,
the marveUous memory which she displayed, were in the
minds of many quite as remarkable and even more enter-
taining than the majestic utterances of her gifted husband.
It was said that those who came to sit at his feet re-
mained at hers.
5^2.1;^'*'?
CHAPTER V.
" Prallliig whftt 1j lort
Malui the nrnsmbrKioe dav."
AU-t Wdl TKiU Sfid* WtO.
rTH some further notes and memories, kindly fur-
nished me bj an old and esteemed fnead of Miss
Gushman'a, I close my references to those early
days in England.
" I shall be glad to try," he writes, " vhether my memory
and pen enable me to set down any impresaionB which may
interest those younger friendB whose acquaintance with her
does not date back, as mine does, more than a quarter of a
century. It ia in fact more than thirty years since I first
paid my respects to Charlotte Cushman in my father's house,
soon after her arriTal in London in 1S45. She was then about
thirty years of age, tall, active, bright in &oe and manner, full
of wit and humor, and brilliant in manner and eipression. If
I were asked what special quality distinguished her then, and
indeed thronghout hor whole life, my reply would be, intensity ;
the power of plunging her whole mind and spirit, and indeed
her entire self, into the character which she for the moment
desired to personate. She was for the time that very character,
that man Romeo, that woman Juliana, Viola, or Katharine.
Not that, like Garrick, 'when off the stage always acting*;
fax from it : off the stage she was invariably, — as she cor-
dially expressed it in Julia in ' The Hunchback ' — ' her
open, honest, independent 8el£'
HEB UTE^ LBTTEBS^ AKB MEMOBIEa 87
'' But this ifUeniity, as I shall call it, oharaoterized her en-
tire being and the current of all her thoughts and deeds. It
was as brightly shown in priyate life as on the public staga
.... And she was equally intense, with an honest and heart-
felt sympathy, when sorrow or suffering appealed to her. I
have often wondered whether comedy or tragedy was her forte ;
but in truth she was of that great first rank in the histrionic
art where no such distinctions can be drawn. It was not mere
nature uneducated and unskilled, but nature fostered and
trained by diligent study and steady application, which dio-
tated to her genius the art which charmed and delisted
the world.
^ Her power of arresting attention and commanding mlence
was most remarkable, and never more so than in the crowded
and fashionable London circles. At a grand soir^ where ' all
London' was assembled and chattering, even while distin*
guished amateurs were singing or playing, it was curious to
observe the dead silence, first of surprise, then of admira^
tion, produced by Miss Cushman's recitation of * Lord UUin's
Daughter.'
*' At the time of her arriving in England, and for some years
after, her singing, although the upper notes of her voice had
disappeared, was excellent of its kind, and her power of musi«
cal declamation, so essential to good ballad-singing, was re-
markably fine. To hear her sing, * We were two Daughters
of one Race,' or ' They teU me Thou 'rt the Favored Guest,' was
a great musical treat, full not only of dramatic genius, but of
pathos, sweetness, and vigor. Nor was it less remarkable as
a work of art, because the artist was, by consummate skill and
knowledge, conquering the imperfectious of an organ already
almost destroyed, her great science enabling her to make use
of what remained, while the intensity of her feeling absolutely
riveted her audience. Arriving in London, not only an un-
known actress, but without any of that preliminary flourish
which is so unfortunately common nowadays, it may well be
understood that Miss Cushman had no small trouble in obtain-
88 CHABLOTTE CUBHICAK:
ing a suitable d^biit ; but I believe that few can realize the
obstacles of every kind that beset her course ; and even when
a London manager had determined to give her an opportunity,
there was, on his part, an utter absence of cordial support, and
an entire incapability of appreciating the genius and talents
of the new candidate for London histrionic honors. It was
not until the day after her d^biit that the lessee of the Prin-
cess's Theatre began to see that he had in his hand one of
the trump cards of the game which he was engaged in playing ;
and even then his nature did not prompt him to any generous
or even any prudent acceptance of the services of the greatest
tragic and comic actress of the day. But a very few nights
convinced all London that she had merits far beyond anything
at that day on the boards. I remember when a boy hearing
it observed of that clever and versatile actor, Charles Eemble,
that it always seemed as if the costume of each character was
that in which the man habitually lived, and that whether as
Faulconbridge he ' strolled into Angiers,' or sprang upon the
stage as Don Felix, he was in dress and bearing the man
whom he represented. So might it always have been said of
Charlotte Cushman, whose Queen Katharine, Julia, Juliana,
Lady Macbeth, and Lady €hky Spanker were all as distinct
and clear realities as nature itself.
" In 1845 - 46 Miss Cushman was certainly fortunate in being
associated with that excellent actor, James Wallack, whose
admirable acting, no less than his generous advice, rich from
long experience and the remembrance of bygone years of fel-
lowship with the Eembles, EUiston, Young, Miss O'Neill,
Miss Chester, and a host of great artists, were invaluable to
the young and almost unfriended actress, whose fate for a
time trembled in the scales of public favor. Recalling a few
of the triumphs of that time, passing over Bianca in ^ Fazio,'
of which nothing remains unsaid, my mind reverts pleasantly
to the genuine success of her Julia in ^ The Hunchback,' with
its admirable cast, — Mrs. Sterling as Helen in the height of
her charms and winning humor, Leigh Murray as Clifford,
HER UFE, LETTBBS, AND IfEMOBIES. 89
and Wallaok as Master Walter, — the former in Sheridan
Enowles's odd phrase, ' a d d picturesque fellow,* and the
latter, according to the same eccentric authority, 'the best
Hunchback ever seen; I never imderstood the character be-
fore.' The manner in which Julia's &ce was made up in this
play, with its youthful freshness and comeliness, was per-
fectly wonderful to those who had seen Charlotte in private
life, and to whom, delightful as the woman and the artist
were, her plainness and the almost strange cut of her features
were familiar. But just as
' Pritchard was genteel and Garrick six feet high,'
80 Charlotte Cushman was lovely, el^;ant, youthful, and es-
piigle.
*' Time will not serve, even if I were capable of doing any
justice to my recollections of her varied gifts and powers, and
of the parts wherein she displayed them ; all these crowd on
my memory as bright visions of the past, which, with no un-
kindly feeling toward the younger artists of to-day, we cannot
expect again to see ; for the system of things is changed, and
trained companies of Shakespearian artists can hardly now be
assembled.
** There never was a spark of jealousy or disdain toward her
sister or brother artists in Charlotte's character, none more
ready to praise, none more happy in being able to give en-
couragement to her fellows. But of late years how could
she fail to see and lament over the poor material put upon
the stage, and the uneducated, ignorant men and women who
jostled the best actors and actresses off the boards 1
'' When I saw her last, at Hampstead, it was this which
made her shrewdly observe, with mixed sarcasm and judg-
ment, that she began to doubt whether she ever had really
been an artist, whether her rules and practice had not been
all wrong, and whether the rising generation had not discov-
ered the true art of acting. ' True,' she observed, ' we of the
old school endeavored to " hold the mirror up to nature, to
show virtue her own features, scorn her own image, and the
90 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
veiy age and body of the time his form and pressure." So
Hamlet had taught us, and so we tried to act ; but our houses
grew empty, sensation drama and all the tribe of biurlesque fill
the houses, and if Shakespeare is played it is but to display a
single actor's genius or folly. We must have been altogether
wrong — w the pubUc.'"
In March of 1848 her sister Susan was married to Dr.
James Sheridan Muspratt of Liverpool, and left the staga
In August, 1849, she sailed again for America, fulfilling
engagements throughout the country, and everywhere fol-
lowed by the prestige of her European celebrity. One or
two extracts from letters are all we have to illustrate this
period.
Chorley writes in March, 1850 : —
'' Though my note had not reached you when you wrote to
me from New Orleans on the 7th of last month, I hope you
have received it ere this, since it would remind you that the
' reciprocity is not all on one side,' but that I can remember
you as well as you me. With all my heart do I rejoice in the
accounts you send me of your thrivings and successes. I
heard as much from some of your friends here, but I am truly
glad to see the thing accredited in your own handsome hand-
writing ; only don^t stop in America till you get thirty thou-
sand pounds, because perhaps by that time you will not need
England again ; and that 1 should not like, since I shall never
see America ; and if you are veiy long of coming, you will
hardly see me, I think, «o Moom to the very banes of my mind
do I feel, without the possibility of slackening in the exertion
to keep on my legs. You had small need to tell me how you
found America. I am convinced, having read every line I
could read on the subject, seen and conversed and made friends
with many Americans, that I have a true, clear idea of what I
should find there. At all events, 't is just what you describe.
I should exyoy the originals which such a new land must yield ;
HER LIFE, LBTTSBS, AlO) MEMORIES. 91
but I shall never see them, — no, not if Mr. Bamum would
give me one thousand pounds for ' Duchess Elinor ' ! I am
getting old and sore afraid ; very much like the ' Cottage
Maid ' in the circulating libraries, ' all in pieces.' Well, I am
enchanted at your prosperity."
In this letter Mr. Chorley makes a strong appeal to her
in behalf of his play, which was afterwards produced on
her return to England in 1854^ but did not make a suc-
cess.
In a letter under date March 27, 1850, New Orleans,
we find it stated, that although theatrical business was
duU throughout the South, Miss Cushman's engagement
was immensely successful ; a longer engagement than was
ever played by a star before. In those days very long
runs were not as common as they have since become.
The nightly average of receipts was greater than even
Mr. Macready's. From New Orleans she went to Savan*
nah, Charleston, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and
New York.
In July, in consequence of news of a friend's serious
illness in England, she took six weeks fix)m her engage-
ments and crossed the ocean, returning on the 4th of
August, and remaining in the States until May 15, 1852,
when she took her farewell at the old Broadway Theatre,
acting in the interval at Brougham's Lyceum and at the
Astor Place Opera-House.
In July of this year we find her in Liverpool, on a
visit to Seaforth Hall ; in August at the Isle of Wight ; in
September and October alternating between London and
Liverpool On October 15th she made her first visit to
Borne, in company with several travelling Mends ; among
them Miss Harriet Hosmer, who was then on her way to
study art in Home, and Grace Greenwood, the well-known
writer. The winter was spent in the ways so weU known
92 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAlf:
to all tourists, with the most earnest enjojnoient and un-
ceasing activity in the pursuit of it, varied by sittings to
artists, among them to Mv, W. Page, whose portrait of her
is now in Newport It was much praised at the time,
and is undoubtedly an excellent bit of color, but as a like-
ness it is decidedly weak. No artist but the sun (notably
the last photograph by Gutekunst, of Philadelphia) was
ever able to give the mingled strength and sweetness of
her wonderful face. Page's portrait, however, inspired a
true poet and artist, the late Paul Akers, with the follow-
ing tribute, which, as it embodies the feeling which otLght
to have existed in the portrait, may not be uninteresting
to transcribe here. Taking it with reference to her, it
much more fitly suggests the Gutekunst portrait, which
is unequalled in its embodiment of all that the great and
noble face had become through its years of labor, of tri-
umph, and of suffering.
Page's Portrait of Charlotte Cushhan.
'^ It is a &ce^ rendered impressive by the grandest repose, —
a repose that pervades the room and the soul ; a repose not
to be mistaken for serenity, but which is, however, in equilib-
rium. No brilliancy of color, no elaboration of accessories,
attracts the attention of the observer. There is no need of
these. But he who is worthy of the privilege stands suddenly
conscious of a presence such as the world has rarely known.
He feels that the embodiment before him is the record of a
great past as well as the reflection of a proud present, — a
past in which the soul has ever borne on and through and
above all obstacles of discouragement and temptation to a
success which was its inheritance. He sees, too, the possibili-
ties of the near future ; how from that fine equipoise the soul
might pass out into rare manifestations, appearing in the
sweetness and simplicity of a little child, in the fearful tumul-
tuousness of ' Lady Macbeth,' in the passionate tenderness of
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 93
'Romeo/ or in the gothic grandeur of the Scotch sorceress ;
in the love of kindred, in the fervor of friendship, and in the
nobleness of the truest womanhood."
This was written twenty-seven years ago, and, read in
the light of the life which followed after, may be looked
upon as an almost prophetic utterance, and a striking
manifestation of the true poetic instinct which enabled
the writer to see beyond the pictured face into the noble
individuality which it sought to interpret, and to fed all
its possibilities in the coming years through the atmos-
phere which it created in the painter's studio. This is
the supreme gift which fuses all the arts in the alembic
of its own consciousness, and brings forth the pure ore of
truth and beauty to the light of day. It may be said
also that '' the fine equipoise of soul," passing out in rare
manifestations, found its ultimate and consummate flow-
ering in the dramatic readings, — wherein the artist, freed
from aU stirrounding lets and hindrances, stood alone, acted
alone, and filled each role, passing " from grave to gay, from
lively to severe," with a power, a pathos, and a humor
unsurpassed in this or any foregone period.
There are many portraits of her in and out of character.
An early one by Sully is interesting, though with the same
fault of want of character, which never could have been
the fault of her face. In this head she looks to be about
seventeen, and there is a singular brightness and sunni-
ness of aspect ; the eyes are lovely, and look forth trust-
ingly tmd hopefully. Artists who attempted her likeness
erred either on one side or the other; they made her
either insipidly weak, in the effort to soften certain points,
which were certainly not ar^w^tco/Zy beautiful, or they lost
sight of the tenderness and sweetness in the strength, and
exaggerated the latter. It was very easy to mstke an ugly
likeness of her, but those who did so saw only the out-
side of her.
94 CHARLQTTS CU8HHAN :
Toward the spring of this year she made the usual ex-
cursion to Naples and its neighborhood, returning by way
of Civita Vecchia to Leghorn and Florence. In Florence
she saw the Brownings, whose acquaintance she had made
some time before in Paris. Leaving Italy, she returned
by way of the Italian lakes and Switzerland to Paris^
arriving on the 5th of July in England, and making her
usual visit to Great Malvern, to get a little building up
by water-treatment for the London season of 1854
Commencing December 15 at Liverpool, she acted during
January, February, and March in London. In March '* The
Duchess Elinor " was produced and acted only two nights.
In April she acts again in Liverpool and in May in Lon-
don, Birmingham, and Sheffield. In June she makes an
excursion to Paris, for the pleasure of a young Mend
whose health was delicate, and was recalled to England
by the illness and death of Mrs. Muspratt's youngest
child, Ida
I find among her letters one to her sister on the death
of this child, which is so full of tender sadness and brave
submission that I cannot omit it
** I grieve from my heart, dear Sue, for all your sadness and
depression ; but can you not think that God's will is best, that
perhaps you needed something to draw you nearer to heavien,
and so this best and purest and dearest was taken to remind
you that only such can inherit the kingdom of heaven in all
its purity, and that your whole aim must be to fit yourself to
be able to join her there 1 That the taking away of this lovely
child was for some good and wise purpose, though through
omr earthly eyes we cannot recognize it, we are bound in
i humble confidence to trust and believe ; and in striving more
to do Gk>d's will, in aiming for a more truly Christian life, we
< shall show that we feel his wisdom and power, and are willing
\ to bow unto it, eager only to be fitted to rejoin her at the last
\
HER LIFE, LETTBB8, AND MEMORIES. 96
'kow hard it would be to die, if we had all the joys and hap-
piness that we could desire here ! The dews of autumn pene-
trate into the leaves and prepare them for their falL But
for the dews of sorrow upon the heart, we should never be
prepared for the sickle of the destroyer. And so does God
wean us from this world by taking what we love most to his
world ; and the purer he takes them, the nearer are they to
his glorious presence, the more blessed and blessing angels,
who ever see his face. Could you wish her back from this 1
Could you be willing that she should ever know again the
chances of such suffering as you witnessed in her little ago-
nized fhime 1 No, I am sure not ; and if one of God's angels
should give you the choice, you would say with uplifted hands,
' Keep her, God, from the suffering and sorrow she knew
even in her little life ; keep her ever near thee 1 ' And you
must try not to grieve too deeply, for sorrow in such a case
is almost rebellion. Feel, as you kneel to God morning and
night, that it is her spirit which takes you there, and ever
mediates between you and him. Feel that she is ever near
you ; and if there can be a torture hereafter, it must be in
seeing the hearts of those we loved and who best loved us
bleeding for our loss. That you will and must miss her is
most certain, and this will be wherever you may be situated.
Even I, who saw so little of her, never think of any of you
[ without missing her smile and pretty ways. How much more,
\ then, must you ! But if you suffer it to be a means of bringing
you nearer to God and heaven, you will find in time that it
will prove a tender rather than a harrowing sorrow, and you
will be indeed saying, ^ Thy will be done.' I know it seems
1 almost folly in me to attempt to write you upon such a sub-
^ ject, but I have felt so much, — do feel so much for you in
\ it, — that I must say what little I can to induce you not to
despond, and to trust to a higher Power than wecan under-
stand, but who ordains everything for our good, and who
^hastens in love and mercifiil kindness."
\ The summer of 1854 is spent between London, Brigh-
96 CHABLOTTE GUSHMAK:
ton, and the Isle of Wight, visiting friends and making
various excursions. During September, October, and No-
vember she is acti^ in Dublin and other places, mak-
ing an extended tour/in the provinces. At Brighton, in
December, she dines with the Duke of Devonshire, and
reads " Henry VIIL" to a distinguished circle.
In January of this year she took possession of her
ctelightful home in London, Bolton How, Mayfair, where
for some years she dispensed the most charming and
genial hospitality. The musical parties she gave there
are well remembered by many. All that London afforded
of best in that and kindred arts found there a congenial
field for their exercisa One notable entertainment was
a dinner which she gave to Bistori, on the occasion of her
first visit to England in 1856. She had met Bistori in
Paris, seen her act, and had a great admiration for her,
as she had also for Salvini, and for Italian acting gener-
ally. She preferred the natural school of acting as dis-
tinct from the conventional. She was herself a splendid
example of this school, notwithstanding her long stage
experience ; and the Italians, who are bom actors, even in
private life, always delighted her. In saying they are
bom actors, even in private life, I do not mean to say
they are actors in the sense of being hypocrites or false,
but simply that they *' suit the action to the word and
the word to the action," and are free, untrammelled, and
graceful in all their movements, so much so as to have
become above any other people types of the picturesque
in manner, gesture, and attitude. The poorest peasant in
the Campagna cannot take an ungraceful attitude; and
you will see them standing, leaning on their long poles
or shrouded in their ragged blankets, perfect pictures,
relieved against the wondrous colors of earth and sky.
Through this irresistible attraction toward the absolutely
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 97
true, Miss Cushman preferred Eistori to EacheL They
were great friends, meeting and communicating on some
plane known only to their two selves, but apparently quite
satisfactory to both. Miss Cushman never hcul the advan-
tage of a knowledge of foreign tongues ; but to observe
from a distance these two in conversation was quite beau-
tiful, the animation and interest of each seemingly supply-
ing all deficiencies. Afterwards when residence in Bome
had given Miss Cushman some knowledge of Italian, Bis-
tori came there, and their first meeting took place unex-
pectedly on the Pincian. Bistori was walking, and Miss
Cushman descended from her cauriage and ran to meet
her, pouring forth a warm greeting in Italian. Bistori
held up her hands, exclaiming, "Brava! brava!" with
enthusiasm, and then both united in a hearty laugh.
Charlotte Cushman said, in describing this scene to a
friend, " I don't know what I said, but I threw all the
Italian I hcul at her pell-mell, and she understood me, as
she always does." The Bistori dinner was unique in its
way ; everything Italianissimo as far as the resources of
London would permit, — cooks, waiters, dishes, all Italian ;
the chief cook turning himself into a waiter for the pleas-
ure of looking at Bistori The table wf^ decorated with
the Italian colors, and the dress of the hostess also dis-
played " the mystical tricolor bright," —
'* Red for the patriot's blood,
Green for the martjrr's crown,
White for the dew and the rime,
When the morning of God comes down.** *
During these later years in England we have but a
barren record of her movements and doings, not much
more than names and dates and places. Letters are
* Mrs. Browning.
98 CHAKLOTTE CUSHMAN :
almost wholly wanting. We know briefly but surely that
she was living a life of intense activity, full of work,
equally full of genial human interest and sympathy.
The bare record of letters written and received fills us
with wonder that so much could have been done, and so
much which came out of the fulness of a great soul and
warm heart could have been suffered to disappear so
utterly I Yet so it seems to be in this planet, —
** Oar lires are like the print which feet
Have made on Tempo's desert strand ;
Soon as the rising tide shaU beat,
AU trace wUl vanish from the sand."
The tide of other interests, of other excitements, effaces
our impress, however deep it may have been, and we live
no longer, except perhaps in one or two faithful hearta
I will make a few extracts from a sort of diary or
memoranda which she always kept It is only a record,
as I have said, of the mere outside of her life, kept with
a neatness, clearness, and punctuality entirely her own.
She was, as all the world knows, a clever woman of busi-
ness ; and it is useful in .its way, it fixes many things, but
it is like the dry bones of a once living, loving organism,
from which all warmth and breath have departed.
From February 28 to April 13, 1855, we find her acting
her usual round of characters in the provinces. Through
May, at the Haymarket Theatre, London; in June, at
Liverpool, and again in London, acting for Buckstone's
benefit In July she makes the tour of the English
lakes, goes to Ripon, Fountain's Abbey, Skipton, Bolton,
etc. ; in August, to Devonshire, Lynton, Ilfracombe, Glas-
tonbury, Bristol, Cheltenham, and Malvern ; then to
Worcester, Bolton Abbey, Eipon, and Newcastle, where
on October 1 she acts ; also at Sunderland, Manchester,
Liverpool, Birmingham, and back to London, where she
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AlO) MEMORIES. 99
fulfils a montli's engagement at the Haymarket, and after
acts at Sheffield, Wolverhampton, and Bristol
In January, 1856, she again acts at the Haymarket in
" She Stoops to Conquer," after which, up to the end of
March, we find her occupied with social life in London,
breaking from this for another short engagement at the
Haymarket, Birmingham, Sadler's WeUs, Norwich, and
Yarmouth, and an excursion to the Wicklow Lakes,
Killamey, and all the various points of interest in Ireland
September 6 she acts in DubUn; October 1, visits
Edinburgh, Melrose, Dryburgh Abbey, Abbotsford, Stir-
ling, the Trosachs, etc., alternating work with play in her
usual energetic manner.
With this specimen of the diaiy, I think I shall leave
it, or only refer to it when some name or date is needed
in another connection. I give thus much of it here to
show the immense activity and fulness of her life at this
time, which was shortly to be merged in the comparatively
greater repose of her Boman period.
But even this diary fails by some chance for the winter
of 1856-57, though we know that she passed it in Home.
A note of fiurewell from Mr. Chorley, dated November,
1856, is interesting as giving an instance of Miss Cush-
man's never-failing kindness, exercised always in ways
which most nearly touched the hearts of the recipients.
In this note he asks her to visit the English burial-ground
in Home, and bring him a leaf, a blade of grass, from the
tomb of a friend there, of whom he says : —
" In her I lost the dearest, kindest friend I ever had. It is
weak work, relic-gathering, but the greater part of my life is
filled With thoughts of the dead and gone, and I don't indulge
the weakness often.**
Another letter in April, 1856, refers again to the sub-
ject He says : —
100 GHABLOTTE CU8HMAN :
''I was tralj glad to see joars of the 10th ; not that if no
letter had come I should have felt myself foi^gotten, but be-
cause it would be difficult to make any one understand the
refreshment which a little kindly intercourse is to a person
whose life is so solitary as mine ; and so I am perhaps dispro-
portionately thankful for being remembered visibly. I thank
you a£fectionately for your woman's tact and kindness in
caring for the graye I asked after. She who lies there was
one of the truest and most exquisite natures I have ever ap-
proachedy and to whom I owe more than I can ever pay. The
tears I have wept over yoiur kindness have done me good."
It was in the winter of 1856 - 57 that the compiler of
these memoirs first made Miss Cushman's acquaintance,
and from that time the current of their two lives ran,
with rare exceptions, side by side. We were in Eome,
as " travellers and pilgrims " to the famous city. She had
already passed one winter there, — that of 1853, — but
this was my first experienca ,
She came late ; and her advent had been heralded by
many warm friends as something which would add greatly
to the pleasures of the season. We soon found that the
voice of fame had not exaggerated her attractions. No
salon seemed complete without her, and her potent charm
enhanced aU the delights of the place. I remember our
first meeting was on the occasion of a reading given by a
gentleman who, having become possessed with the idea
that he resembled Shstkespeare, supplemented the attrac-
tion by appearing in the costume of the Shakespearian
epoch. We were much impressed by the simple and
kindly interest Miss Gushman took in the entertainment,
not fully realizing then how the crude effort must have
struck upon her cultivated artistic sense. It was one of
her chief attributes, as it is always an attribute of true
genius, to be able to enjoy, without too dose analysis, any
HER LIFB, LETTERS, AKD MEMOBIES. 101
effort, even in her own art, which had the least flavor of
the true in it, or even an aspiration toward it ; and when
that was wanting, her feeling was never one of harsh or
unfriendly criticism.
She had a party of friends with her at this time, as
usual, and was full of active effort for their pleasure. It
was a busy winter. Bome had not then even a prevision
of the changes which have since been so strangely wrought.
She was in all her gloiy, as the religious metropolis of the
world, and passed through all her ecclesiastical phases,
with the exact precision of a divine law, " not one jot or
one tittle of which could be abated without eternal con-
fusion thereby resulting." Bome was then what she can
never be again. More happy, more prosperous she may
be under liberal rule, but equally interesting she can
never be. Even then, those who had known her still
earlier were deploring innovations and changes trifling in
comparison with what has since taken place; but to those
who saw the wondrous city then for the first time, for the
first time tasted its magic circle of delights, it was) hard
to find a flaw or feel a disappointment Miss Cushman
entered into all its pleasures with a keen appreciation,
which imparted its own ardent zest to all with whom she
came in contact She was then in the fulness and frui-
tion of all her powers. There has been much question
as to her personal appearance. Those who loved her well
never made any question about it There was a winning
charm about her far above mere beauty of feature, a won-
drous charm of expression and sympathy which took all
hearts and disarmed criticism. She had, moreover, many
of the requisites for real beauty, — a fine, stately presence, a
movement always graceful and impressive, a warm, healthy
complexion, beautiful, wavy, chestnut hair, and the finest
eyes in the world. Gk) where she might, she was always
102 CHAKLOTTE CUSHMAN :
the person whose individuality dominated that of all
othera. The harmonious combination in her personality
of great intellectual force with extreme social genial-
ity, sweetness, and sympathy, produced an attraction
which was irresistible (none but the coldest and most
unsympathetic natures resisted its force), and it was
as powerful with the poor and lowly as with the high
bom and bred.
Another marked impression Miss Cushman made was
the entire absence of any reminder of the professional in
private life ; neither in dress nor manner could this be
detected in her. She was always studiously neat in her
dress, beautifully natural and true in her manner. Only
when she spoke one was refreshed by hearing the same
ease and perfectness of delivery for which she was so
noted upon the stage. Nature seemed to have formed her
throat, lungs, and mouth for the most perfect elocution,
and given the voice a volume and a power of inflection
which was able to fill any space. This great power was
tested in her later years by one going about to diflferent
extreme points of die Academy of Music in Philadelphia,
— a building capable of holding comfortably three thou-
sand people, and, filled to its utmost capacity, five thou-
sand, sa it often was at her readings; everywhere the
grand voice penetrated without eflTort, and could be heard
as well in its lowest as in its highest intonation.
The singular absence from Miss Cushman's personality
of any suggestion of the stage — if we may so express it
— was most remarkable in one who had lived upon it so
long and served such an apprenticeship to it. It was a
part of her royal birthright, that she was equal to any
position, and would have adorned any station ; as it was,
she created for herself a station which surpassed the ad-
ventitious advantages of greater rank and wealth. With
HER UFE, LETTERS, AND IIEMORIES. 103
this inherent superiority was combined a singular, almost
childlike simplicity, a capacity for enjoying life in all its
phases, of accepting with equal philosophy the roughness
or the smoothness of the way. And yet philosophy is
hardly the word for it, if philosophy can be confounded
with indifference. Indifference she never knew ; it had
no part in her full, intense, earnest nature ; whatever of
wrong she could help, whatever she could make better or
happier for others or herself, to that she bent the full
force of her capacious soul, and the rough way became
smooth, the difficult paths easy, the barren effort fruitful,
as if by magic. Nothing was too great or too small for
her to imdertake to serve a friend. She would bestow as
much personal care and effort in the endeavor to right
the wrongs of a poor seamstress who had fallen among the
Philistines in Bome, as she ever gave to the needs of the
highest among her acquaintances. This was only one in-
stance of many of the same kind, which were so much
a matter of course with her that the knowledge of them
rarely passed beyond herself and her faithful "Sallie,"
who was, as she often said, " her right hand " ; and only
in this way did her right hand know what her left hand
did. But the incense of these good deeds filled her life
with an aroma of faithful remembrance and devotion,
taking shape, whenever opportunity served, in some little
gift, the best in the power of the donor, mostly flowers,
in the instance of the poor seamstress above mentioned,
a specialty of pressed flowers was the form in which the
greatful heart uttered itself. Many instances of this kind
might be recorded here. One in especial occurs to me, as
very characteristic. This was in Cincinnati, on one of
her professional tours, during these later years, imder-
taken by the advice of physicians, and much interrupted
by attacks of sudden and serious illness. On this occo-
104 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
sion she was ill in bed, heavy with a sort of stupor which
was a symptom of her malady. A knock came at the
door of the room ; going to it, the attendant found there
a respectable-looking woman, who seemed in great dis-
tress. She told a sad story : she had been robbed of her
purse ; she was on her way home, after nursing a sick
daughter in another city. She was a stranger without
friends in Cincinnati ; she had seen Miss Cushman*s name
in the papers, had heard of her noble and generous heart,
eta Not wishing to disturb the patient, a moment's hesi-
tation took place ; but a voice from the bed asked, " What
is it ? " The story was told. *' Her voice is honest," she
said ; " give her what she needa**
The following letter is inserted as another instance
showing how Miss Cushman was constantly dealing with
evil wherever she found it, and never " in fear or shame
failing to follow the dictates of her heart" The writer
of this was a young and interesting woman moving in
the upper ranks of life. It speaks for itself.
" Mt deab Miss Cushman : Thank you for your kindness
in speaking openly to me on a subject from which all others
have shrunk. I will do my best to merit your — well, what
shall I say 1 not affection, for I have no claim on it more than
the pen with which I write, and your respect must, if you
ever had any, have vanished some time ago. However, I
will try to win some good opinion from you. Now for a
r^Bum^ of your letter : Ist, I know a good deal more than
you think of your character, and that simply from watching
you very often when you neither saw nor heard me. You sat
before me for three Sijndays in church, and during the ser-
mons (stupid enough) I had at least two hours to compare you
with a mass of half-educated people, living on from season to
season with no higher idea than ' pour passer le temps.' Put
any one of these women in your place and they would have
HER UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 105
been like bo many half-fledged birds, trying to fly ; while you,
gifted by God with unusual powers, rose on the wing. Per-
haps, to use Browning^s word, you
*' Starred, feasted, despaired,"
but you succeeded,
" 2d; I know I have a good, well-grounded character, and
that I am not a fooL I know also that I have *no consist-
ency of purpose,' and no 'energy.' But I know that both
were sacrificed in the beginning to at least a wish to do what
was right.
" 3d. * To be degraded in one's own mind is the worst of
all.' In that you say only too truly ; but I am not going to
be degraded any longer, in my own mind or otherwise. I am
rather of the opinion of the author of ' Guy Livingstone,' that
* a fault is worse than a failure.' I can forgive the first, but
despise the second ; and when once I leam to despise myself
I am more than half-way cured. If I can serve you now or
ever, command me, and hold me always gratefully yours."
But to return to Bome. During this winter Miss Cush-
man sang often in society ; her once powerful organ, in
losing its compass and variety, had lost nothing of its
power of expression. It was still a supreme gift, as it
continued to the end of her life. It was only one of her
means of giving forth the richness and depth of her na-
ture, and it comprehended the same universality. It
was very effective in the grander styles of composition,
especially so where she could bring to bear her early train-
ing in church music. Friends will call to mind the touch-
ing and solemn theme by Jones Very, beginning, " Wilt
Thou not visit Me ? " which we called " The Chant," and
which was either an adaptation or a suggestion from one
of the Gregorian chants. It was singularly adapted to
her style of singing, or, as she herself called it, ^ declaim-
ing to musia"
106 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
" Mary, call the Cattle Home," by Charles Kingsley, was
another remarkable performance, given with a depth of
pathos, fervor, and intensity which made the blood thrilL
Her repertoire of ballads and songs adapted to her voice
was quite extensive. Afterwards, when she had established
her home in Bome and her salon became one of the chief
attractions of the winter, many will recall those Saturday
evenings when, after entertaining her guests with all the
best musical talent that Bome could furnish, the evening
was never considered complete without her own contri-
butions, and a chosen few would always remain to insist
upon the ''Irish song" as the necessaiy finale to the
evening.
These " Irish songs " were always kept for " the fit au-
dience, though few," who could never be content to go
away without one. Like her Irish stories, they were
unique. With the first note of the accompaniment the
spirit and rollicking drollery of all the Emerald-Islanders
entered into her ; not a word lost, not a point or witty
turn slurred over or failing to express its entire meaning,
and all enhanced by her own thorough enjoyment of the
fun. Of these songs the favorite, and undoubtedly the
wittiest and best, was one called " Father MoUoy," by
Samuel Lover. It turns upon the illness of a certain
Faddy McCabe, and the efforts made by the priest to
make him appreciate the value of " repintance" and for-
giveness of his enemies.
*' ' For widoat your foigiyeness and likewise repintance,
You '11 ne'er go to heaven, and that is my sintence.' "
Paddy is not so low but he can argue the matter ; he
exhausts every form of special pleading, of wit, of fun,
of drollery, constantly imploring for the blessing, which is
sternly refused except upon the conditions aforesaid.
At last he comes to the conclusion that he must foigive.
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 107
" * I foi^ve — everybody,' says Pat, wid a groan,
' Except — that big vagabone, Micky Malone ;
And him 1 11 murder if ever I can ' — "
Here the priest breaks in, peremptorily, —
" ' Widout your forgiveness and likewise repintance.
You '11 ne'er go to heaven, and that is my slntence.' "
Upon which Paddy wonders very much how the priest
can think of mentioning heaven anyway in the same
breath with that "blackguard, Malone." Finally he
winds up with the following irresistibly Irish conclu-
sion: —
'* ' Well, since X 'm hard pressed and I must forgive,
I foigive — if I die ; but as sure as I live,
That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy ;
And now for your blessin', swate Father Molloy.' "
This song, as I have said, was a great favorite, and de-
servedly so, as those who recall it will readily admit ; but
there were sometimes guests present who might not relish
its freedom, and what might seem something in it of a
burlesque upon what were to them sacred things. Any
chance of such offence Miss Cushman always carefully
avoided. On one occasion a young English priest was
present, and she refused to sing the song until after his
departure. In due time he said " good night,'' and soon
after the rich notes of "Father Molloy" rose upon the
air. He, however, had not gone ; something detained him
in the antechamber; he stopped to listen; delighted and
amused, he stayed the song out, and the next day he called
to express his pleasure, and to hope that he might speedily
have a better opportunity of hearing it again.
This winding up of the Saturday evenings came to be
at last a recognized necessity, and the fame of them spread
abroad among our country men and women in Eome, until
at last the house could hardly contain the numbers who
thronged there. All came, even those who had no special
108 CHABLOTTE CUSHKAK:
title to admittance farther than that they claimed on the
ground of being Americans. It was sometimes curious
to see the family groups who would file in, one after the
other, the pater or mater familias, making a little speech of
explanation, and then formally presenting the rest, always
received kindly by the pleasant hostess, who had but one
face for all her guests. It was delightful to see her in the
midst of them, with a kind word, a ready repartee, a hearty
laugh for one and the other. It was a thing to be noted,
that Miss Cushman always looked taller than any one else,
even when she was not really so, the carriage of her per-
son and her marked personality seeming to give her this
distinction.
Even up to the last years of her life she continued to
give the same pleasure with her songs, forgetting herself
and her pain in the otUgiving of herself, which was her
mission and her Ufa Some of her latest strength was
given with wonderful intensity and pathos to Gounod's
fine sacred compositions, — "There is a Green Hill far
Away," and "Nazareth."
The winter of 1856 - 57 passed swiftly, and only closed
too soon. Miss Cushman made with her party the usual
Lenten excursion to Naples and its neighborhood, returning
for Holy Week, and immediately after to England. But be-
fore leaving arrangements were decided upon for the Boman
home, which was not, however, to be an accomplished fetct
until the winter of 1859, she having made engagements
for an intermediate season in America. On September 5
of this year she sailed to meet these engagements.
Here are a few scraps of notes of this period, trifling in
themselves, but interesting as referring to her, and show-
ing the universal feeling of her goodness, how " the hearts
leaped kindly back to kindness." One is fix)m a young
friend, and begins, " My Minnie." They all felt the moth-
erly, protective atmosphere she bore about her.
HER UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 109
'' Mt Minnie : So you start to-morrow over the great deep ;
and if you knew bow sad I felt in seeing the last of you, you
would not have wondered at my indulging in a little private
roar on my own account, as I did in Mrs. S ^"s halL You
know me well enough to understand and believe me when I
say that the home love, the power of forming and clinging
to domestic ties, is the deepest capacity in my nature ; and I
have not felt or taken lightly the constant tenderness you have
shown me the last two years, and the way in which you have
made me free of your hearthstone. It has been a great dis-
appointment to me not to see you off, and I felt thoroughly
the kindness which made you want me to come to Liverpool,
but it was better not My own Minnie, don't go and stay away
twenty months. My love to Sallie ; say farewell to the dear
little woman for me, and tell her not to get married in America.
" Your loving child,
Here is a bright little note from Miss Cushman her-
self to another B., also a young friend : —
''Bless you, dearest Belle, for your kind little note. I
wondered whether you would write to me, and now wish you
would call me anything but Miss Cushman. I laughed at N.
for calling mine 'a godmother's box of goodies'; but you
shall call me 'godmother' if you can find nothing better
than ' Miss Cushman ' ; and yet there is something formidable
in mother, therefore it shall be ' Madre Mia,' and I will do what
I can in a small way to prove my right to the title. I wish I
could anticipate all your wants as mothers can and do, but
I will do my best. That naughty ' brown eyes' did not send
me my snowdrops, only told me you were going to send them.
Tou tell me «^ is going to send them ; so between you I don't
get my deserts. I have been doing such a lot of things, as
busy as the ' old gentleman in a gale of wind ' ; and they say
no B is ever so busy as he under these circumstances. I
am as tired as I should be if I had — nothing to do. But
110 CHABLOITE CUSHMAN :
to-morrow I am going to Croyden for a couple of days, and
perhaps that may recruit me a bit, for Mrs. D says I am
to write no letters while I am with her ; so that I am to have
perfect rest, with the exception of gosdp ; and it is so foolish
of people to imagine such can be red. Everything I do in
this world I do hard, even to loving my friends. On Friday
I return to town to go and hear Costa's ' Oratorio of Eli,' with
my handsome friend Chorley. Last night we went to Mrs.
L's, where we met Mrs. Martin, late Miss Faucit, and a host
of smaller fry. Tell F , with my love, I have made up the
house-bills each week in ten minutes^ but have no money left
to pay them with ; my fortune is exhausted, all my trinkets
up the spout, and I expect every day to be arrested for debt.
I have spent all the money she left me, and don't know
where to get any more. Wilmot finds me ' the easiest^ but
the most forgetfullest of missusses.' I go out and forget to
order the dinner, and am followed to the carriage door for
'Herders, please, mem.' My brain wool-gathers frightfully,
which gives me hope I may not be bald, even though I should
lose my hair. God bless you, my child.
'' I am ever your faiUifully affectionate
" Madrb."
:^:t^^<^^
CHAPTER VI.
" I conut myself in notUng elu N> h«iOT
Aa in a tonl remenbaring my good McmU."
Richard II.
" Hekven doUi with US u we with torches do )
Not light them for themuliM : tor if our virtOM
Did not go forth of na, 't were tOl tlike
As if we had tbem cot. Spirltii are not finely tonched,
But to fine issnei : nor natare never lends
The amalleat acmple of her eicellence.
Bat, lilie a thrifty goddens, nbe deterralnei
Herself the glory ot a creditor.
Both thanka and qbop"
Mauare/or Ittatun
HE winter Eind part of the simmiet of this year
J were passed in the States, acting all about the
I coiintiy with her usual success. Letters and
notices of this period are wanting ; the record of names,
places, and dates are in the dlaiy, but without comment.
After her return to England, July 7, she made some
delightful excursions, after devoting six weeks to Mal-
vern ; going to Gloucester, Boss, and Monmouth, by way
of the River Wye; visiting Baglan Castle, and seeing
Tintem Abbey by moonlight September was passed
between London and Brigbton. On October 5 she left
for Home, going by way of Paris, Strasburg, and Basle,
through Switzerland to the Italian lakes, and by Genoa,
Spezzia, and Florence to Roma
The season was chiefly occupied in fitting up her apart-
112 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
ment at No. 38 Via Gregoriana, where she gave her first
reception on January 19, 1859. This house — or rather
two houses, Nos. 38 and 40 — is considered, and justly, one
of the choice situations of Borne. The street runs directly
up to the famous promenade of the Pincian, and the house
is but a pleasant ten minutes' walk from that charming
locality. Its outlook is, or was at that time, tmsurpassed
in extent and interest. Since then many changes have
taken place, which may have obstructed in some measure
this view ; but then from most of the front windows the
eye ranged over a wide prospect, taking in most of the
picturesque outlines of the city, St Peter's looming large
and grand in front, with a limitless expanse of open Cam-
pagna, and the marvellous sky of Bome for background.
Directly in front lay the pleasant parterres and green-
ery of the Miguanelli Gardens. The palace itself stood
lower down on the level of the Piazza d'Espagna. Above
all these buildings towered the sculptured Madonna of the
column of the Immaculate Conception ; and to the left a
far more beautiful object, the corrugated roof and quaint
tower of the ancient church of St. Andrea delle Frate,
where, from immemorial time, hosts of rooks had clustered
and cawed and fed, whose sage and wise proceedings were
a source of great interest to some members of the house-
hold. Every evening, exactly as the clock of the church
struck six, after great note of preparation and much noise
and discussion, the main body of the birds took flight for
their night-quarters on the stone-pines of the Villa Bor-
ghese. They had leaders and conductors of this move-
ment, whose business it plainly was to preserve order and
muster in all the stragglers. After the main flock were
fairly started these returned, flew round the tower, and
summoned, with loud and peremptory caws, any dilatory
ones who might have lingered. This they repeated sev-
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 113
eral times, until all had been gathered in. Then another
grand powwow took place among the trees, their dusky
plumage turned all to palpable gold or copper by the
level rays of the setting sun. It was impossible not to
speculate upon these regular proceedings, and the ques-
tion naturally arose, whether the spirits of the dead gen-
erations of monks who had inhabited the church below
might not now be still revisiting "the glimpses of the
moon " in this appropriate guise, unwilling quite to leave
the scenes of their earthly pilgrimage, and still inter-
ested and occupied with the churchly routine through
which they had lived and died In the enumeration of
objects seen from this fine point of view, I must not
forget glimpses here and there of the windings of the
classic river, gleaming out from among the thickly clus-
tered houses and churches. The famous Castle of St
Angelo, the heights of San Fietro in Montorio, the lofty
sculptured gateway of the Villa Pamfili l5oria, and be-
hind, against the horizon, its noble grove of pines. The
vast bam-like structure of St Paul's without the walls,
and the Protestant Cemetery, were visible to the right of
the picture, and nearer by, the large and rather angular
structure of the Quirinal Palace, with its gardens and
groups of fine old trees, the gray shell of the Colosseum,
the Capitol with its lofty and beautiful tower, and the
low round dome of the Pantheon. In the midst a mass
of palaces, churches, and private dwellings, many of the
highest historical interest, all with a certain noble pictu-
resqueness, due partly to their rich and sombre coloring,
and partly to the deep blue shadow and soft golden light
in which they lie.
They are interspersed everywhere with gardens, with
noble trees shooting high into the blue air, with a wealth
and luxuriance of trailing foliage breaking the harsh
angles and softening down
114 CHABLOITB CUSHMAN:
*' The hoar aosterity
Of ragged deeolation, and filling up,
As 't were, anew the gaps of oenturiea.
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not"
Within Miss Cushman's house the charm was different,
but in its way as great. A glow of warmth and comfort,
combined with a certain elegance, pervaded the pleasant
rooms, and who of the many who enjoyed the hospitality
of that house can forget the genial, cordial hostess, her
kind face, her pleasant voice, her appreciation of all that
was best in her guest, sending him away with an agree-
able consciousness of having been more charming than
he had ever thought himself capable of being before.
Miss Cushman's apartment at first consisted only of the
first floor of Ko. 38, which she herself fitted up and fur-
nished. Afterwards, when more room was required, the
second and third floors were taken in addition. Still
later, when it became necessary to have larger space
for entertaining, the next door Ko. 40, was added to
the establishment, doors were opened between the two
houses, and it became a very delightful, convenient place
of residenca The reception-rooms were not large, nor
were there many of them ; but there was an air of Twme-
ine88, if one may coin a word, rarely seen in the apartments
of Bome, which are mostly either small, bare, and incon-
venient, or else coldly spacious and splendid, with no end
of perfectly useless, uninhabitable rooma
This home was a genuine one, and so grew every year
more and more in harmony with the true hospitable
nature of its mistress. Its walls gradually became cov-
ered with choice pictures and such sculpture as there was
space for; but its chief beauty consisted in its antique
carved furniture, its abundance of books, and the patent
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMOBIEa 115
fact tihat eveiy part and parcel of it was for cWly use, and
nothing for mere show ; so that every one who came into
it felt at once its peculiar charm, and exclaimed, "0, this
is like home I" AU those who have experienced the sense
of strangeness and loneliness which besets one in a foreign
land will readily recognize this element, and many will
remember it with heartfelt gratitude.
The back walls of these houses were painted in fresco
on the outside, said to be by a painter of some note, and
the windows looked out into a garden, rude, but quaint
and picturesque, as all Italian gardening ia A mingling
of fragments of antique marbles, some set into the rough
plaster walls without much regard to symmetry of ar-
rangement, but veiy suggestive, and often masterly ; bits
of broken columns, standing here and there in a mass of
luxuriant vegetation, the rich green acanthus-leaves vying
with their sculptured representatives on the shattered
capitals ; the indispensable well in one comer, with its
innimierable conductors bringing down buckets from all
quarters and every stage on long lines of iron wire or rod,
filling the mind with astonishment how it was possible
for each bucket to keep its own line of travel and avoid
coming in contact with its neighbors. One peculiarity
about this well was, that if you looked down it, you be-
held far below in the bowels of the earth the surface of
the water, and, to your astonishment, women coming and
going, drawing the water from its source, and you recog-
nized that it was a large reservoir, to which the well-
mouth above was only £tn opening or conductor. Further
investigation disclosed the fact that underneath all this
neighborhood existed enormous excavations, eerie under-
ground passages, giving access to this well, and Heaven
only knew to what else beside, since we were none of us
endowed with the proper groping antiquarian spirit to
find out
116 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
The houses which bounded the back view on the Via
Sistina were occupied as studios and apartments, and
presented to an inquiring mind a sufficiently entertaining
prospect, since it is in the nature of Italicms to live very
much en evidence, and family affairs and interesting domes-
tic events were freely discussed from window to window
in the peculiar high-pitched not at all musical voices of
the natives. It is a curious fact that the throats which
so often give forth the most marvellous sounds in singing
are rarely ever pleasant in speaking. They talk fast, and
in a very high pitch, and have no idea whatever of the
*' golden empire of silence." They utter themselves like
children, with the same abandon and imconsciousness, and
are full of dramatic force and vivacity. Even although
it is not Zingtui Toscana in hocca Bomana, the exquisite
beauty and sweetness of the language cannot be disguised,
and one is grateful, since they must chatter like parrots,
it can be done in so sweet a tongue.
While upon the subject of Miss Gushman's home sur-
roundings in Eome, — the object being to present as dear
a picture as possible of that time, — a few words concern-
ing the ItaUan servants may not be inappropriately in-
serted here. There are many who knew the household
well who will thank me for these reminiscences ; and those
who did not will be glad of a record which may place
more vividly before them the life of so noted and esteemed
a contemporary.
Italians make excellent servants on the score of hvman-
ity ; that is to say, however rascally they may be in many
respects, they never fail to take a truly genuine intei^est
in their employers, entering into the affairs of the family
con amore, and, even while carrying on what they consider
a perfectly justifiable system of plunder, conducting them-
selves in a genial and sympathetic way which makes one
forgive them everything.
HEB LIFE, LETTJBBS, AND MEMOBIES. 117
Custom and evil surroundings have trained them in
habits of deception and peculation of a certain kind ; but
it is always strictly within the bounds of what they con-
sider their perquisitea For example, in making purchases
for you, they will take advantage of any opportunity to
make their own little per centum, aided in this by the
habits and institutions of the country. The system is
profound and manifold, and there is no fathoming the
depths of it; for ease and peace' sake you must wink at
it If you get a good cook you must be satisfied to know
that you pay, not only an ostensible price for him, but
also a duty upon every article he purchases for you.
I remember hearing of a case in which a gentleman
tmdertook to grapple with and lay this domestic monster
in its stronghold, the kitchen. He had an interview with
his cook, and came to a thorough understanding with him.
He agreed to pay him a sum sufficient to cover aU the
side issues in question, provided he would deal " on the
square " with him. The man undertook to try the experi-
ment ; but at the end of a month came to say he could
not afford it He was obliged not only to prey upon his
master, but to be preyed upon himself ; and if he did not
meet the expectations of others in the usual way, he could
not answer for his life. This dishonesty, however, never
takes the form of positive stealing. Money is always safe
with them ; you may leave it about, you may lose it, it
will never be appropriated. So with anything in the shape
of personal property. The house would be left during the
summer months to the care of the servants, and not the
smallest article was ever missed. The Italian cook — by
name Augusto — was a chtf par excellence, and quite a
gentleman. He would come in the morning, get his or-
ders, do his marketing, lay out and prepare his dinner,
and then depart, returning only in time to cook it His
118 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
kitchen was a sight to behold for neatness and order, and
he himself was a picture, in his white jacket, apron, and
cap. As soon as the dinner was cooked and served, again
he became quite an elegant gentleman and went forth,
probably, to Jlaner with the best on the Pincian, leaving
all the minor details to the care of his myrmidon, who
presided over the pots and pans. He may be said to have
been amaster of the aesthetics of cooking, for he had elimi-
nated from it all its grossness and reduced it to a pure
science, ruling serenely in the midst, and, even ladle in
hand, abating no jot of dignity, but rather making that
implement the symbol and token of the true sovereignty
which the one achieves who can do anything thoroughly
well
The next important personage on the Italian staff was
the waiter — or major domo — Antonio. A tall, well-
made, remarkably good-looking, perfectly ignorant person
in everything but his business. He could not read or write,
yet his appearance and manners were so unexceptionable
that more than one among our younger lady visitors de-
clared that Antonio realized far more their ideal of what
a Boman prince was like than any of the genuine article
they had seen. This is curiously true about the Bomans ;
the middle and more especially the lower classes are far
more handsome — even noble in type — than the higher
ranks. Why this should be so is hard to say, unless it is
that the upper classes have lost the old classical type by
intermarriage with other nationalities, whereas the Boman
peasantry, and notably the inhabitants of the Trastevere, or
other side of Tiber, have preserved their ancient linea-
ments remarkably, and are a very noble-looking raca
They are unquestionably, though it may be too much on
the material plane, a wonderfully fine, strikingly pictu-
resque, and artistic-looking people. Their simple dignity
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS^ AlO) HEMOBIES. 119
of bearing, which springs from utter unconsciousness of
themselves, gives a certain nobility of aspect to the very
poorest ; no amount of poverty, even squalor, can conquer
this innate charm. The old people are like Bembrandts
and Teniers ; time having done for them in the flesh what
the skill of the artist accomplishes on canvas, — toning
down. Antonio was not, however, one of the picturesque
ones ; he was too respectable, by association with Ms su-
periors he had ingrafted on his good looks an unmistak-
able gentility. ''The Principe," he was called by our
habitu^ea With all his imposing appearance, however,
he was the merest child ; his simplicity, real or pretended,
was simply astounding ; and he possessed in large meas-
ure the attractive Italian bonhamde and geniality. Ital-
ian servants are not to be kept at a distance ; they do not
understand it, and it makes them unhappy ; they take a
lively interest in the affairs of their family, — not only
within but without the house, — and do not hesitate to
offer opiniona and suggest advice from which the evident
kindly intention removes all suspicion of impertinence.
The discussions which took place between Antonio and
his mistress concerning household matters were remark-
ably entertaining and characteristic. Between her broken
Italian and his very curious dialect the wonder grew, how
any understanding was ever arrived it But confusion of
tongues never baffled either the one or the other; they
had a mutual language of signs, when words failed, and
being both " to the manner bom," succeeded perfectly in
understanding each other. I should rather say, in com-
ing to an understanding ; for Miss Cushman, after a long,
patient, and exhausting effort, in which neither party
ever admitted defeat to each other, would say, after
Antonio's triumphant departure, " My dear, I have not
understood one single word that man has been saying, —
not one single vxrrd!^
120 CHARLOTTS CUSHMAN :
Antonio was " a veiy much married man," having a wife
three times his avoirdupois and ten times his weight of
personality, a son who was the care and problem of his
life, and a r^ular gradation of " oUve branches," the par-
ent stem throwing forth new shoots r^ularly every year.
Time and space will not permit more than passing
mention of the various other domestic personnaggi of the
household. Personages they all were, from Luisa the
portress, who lived in her own peculiar den on the Piano
Terrene, to Giovanni the coachman, who looked down
upon her like a king, from his sublime eminence on the
box. Luisa combined with her duties as doorkeeper a
little dressmaking, a vast flood of gossip, and not a little
duplicity and cunning, favoring visitors either with beam-
ing smiles or torrid eruptions, as occasion served or mat-
ters did not go quite to her mind. The noise that Italians
can make upon very slight provocation is something in-
credible. They get up with the suddenness of tropic
tornadoes, and subside as quickly, leaving little or .no
destruction in their train, seldom bearing malice, or feel-
ing in the least ashamed of their outbreaks. What nature
prompts them to do or say seems to them the right thing,
and they go in for it with simple straightforwardness.
This seems to be one of the products of the priestly sys-
tem, which tickets conscience and lays it away upon a
shelf, to be taken down and overhauled only upon stated
occasions. So poor easy conscience gets much out of
practice, and can only be scared into action occasionally
by the thunders of the Church.
There was also a sort of supplement to Antonio, called
Antonuccio, or Little Antonio. He was a rather strange
anomaly in Italy, an Italian and a Mulatto ; very good-
looking, and not darker than the average Neapolitan;
but his blood betrayed itself in the unmistakable wooUy
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AlO) MEMORIES. 121
hair of the negro raca Notwithstanding his hair, how-
ever, which indeed is no obstacle in Europe, he was a lady-
killer, and his place, finally, by reason of these fascinations,
knew him no mora
Other members of this household there were, surely not
unworthy of mention, inasmuch as they were admitted to
as close companionship, and certainly were not less faith-
ful and devoted, than the human creatures who composed
it; at least in our estimation. Miss Cushman loved
animals always, and especially dogs and horses. Among
the former the most worthy of note was "Bushie," or rather
" Bouche Dhu," or " black muzzle," her original Highland
appellation. Bushie came from Edinburgh, brought by
a friend, who was much impressed by the dog's behavior
on the train. She was put in one place, and there re-
mained without moving the whole journey. She was a
very handsome blue Skye terrier, with the human eyes
and attributes of that race. Her first appearance was not
heralded with rapture by SaUie, for she had been neglected
as to her coat, which himg in tangled mats all over her,
and the orders were that she should be oiled all over
and kept shut up for a time ; and there was much care
and vexation anticipated, and little prevision of the com-
fort which lay cushioned in the woolly treasure. So Sal-
lie rather rebelled at the prospect ; but Miss Cushman said,
" Sallie, you will do your duty by the little dog." And
then, to use Sallie*s own words, "I carried her in my arms
down stairs, and the little thing licked me all the way down,
and by the time I got to the kitchen I was completely
won over." This was the beginning of a deep friendship,
devoted on both sides, which lasted, without flaw, for four-
teen years ; and, indeed, the friendship was not confined to
Sallie and herself. The loving dog-heart took us all in,
and never was perfectly content unless she could have us
122 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
all together. To her mistress she was perfectly devoted.
Bushie's general demeanor was discreet and sensible in
the extrema We all thought she understood all that
was said to her; and, more than that, she had a way of
speaking for herself which was almost human. She loved
driving passionately, and was the first one to announce
the approach of the carriage ; however sound asleep she
seemed to be, she would rouse up, and give herself a
shake of preparation whenever the sound of those special
horses' feet was heard in the street Carriages without
number would pass and repass, but Bushie made no sign ;
at the first note of these she would be ready, make her
way down, and leap into the carriage, taking her place in
sublime contentment Then, when we got out of the city,
driving through this gate or that, into the country, or
around the old walls, her great joy was to be put down to
run with the carriage, back and forth, barking at the horses,
as if to say, " Come on ; how slow you are !" and then cours-
ing along, ahead, low to the ground, like a " feckless haiiy
oubit," as Dr. John Brown calls one of her compatriots ;
the happiest of the happy. But Bush was not always
permitted to go. Sometimes there was no room for her,
and then she was deeply injured and unhappy. On these
occasions her faculty for speech would come into play.
She would go to SaUie, and lying down flat on her stom-
ach, with her hind legs stretched out straight behind her,
working her head up and down and moving her forepaws
from side to side, she would utter a peculiar succession
of sounds, of varied intonations, as much like speech as
anything could be which was unintelligibla "What is
it. Bush ? " Sallie would say. " Have they gone without
you, little woman? It is too bad, poor Bushie ! " At these
words of sympathy Bushie's tones would grow high and
hysterical, and she would have to be taken up and much
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 123
petted and comforted. Sometimes in the evening she
would have another complaint to make. She always had
her saucer of milk with a little tea in it, and it sometimes,
but rarely, happened that a pressure of guests, or other
accident, caused it to be forgotten. She would tiy first to
attract attention to herseK by sitting up on her hind legs,
first on the sofa, and then, if not noticed, on the arm of the
so£E^ solemn and grave like a little sphinx. If tins ma-
noeuvre failed, she would go off to SaUie and have a long
talk, upon which Sallie would come and whisper to one
of us, " Did you forget Bushie's tea ? " The sin of omis-
sion acknowledged, she would say with conviction, ''I
thought so," and go away to make good the deficiency.
The movement of which I have spoken, with her fore-
paws. Miss Cushman called playing the piana " Hay the
piano, Bushie,** she would say ; and Bush knew perfectly
weU what was meant, and would go through the perform-
ance, accompanying it with a few words of recitative, with
great gravity and 4clat Endless was the pleasure and
comfort this dog afforded to all genuine dog-lovers, and
many were the moments she filled as nothing else can,
because there is nothing in this world which so fits itself
in, without jarrii^ upon the complex and subtle move-
ments of the human mind, as a dog can; nothing so
absolutely loving, faithful, disinterested, and sympathetic
as the dog nature, and especially the Skye dog nature.
Bushie was a great traveller ; she went with her mistress
everywhere ; she crossed the ocean many times ; she knew
so well how to travel by rail, that it scarcely ever occurred
in all the long journeys, even on the Continent, and espe-
cially in France, where they have no hearts and no bowels
of compassion, and are mere machines where official duty
is concerned, that she was ever confiscated, or put in the
black hole. She was so wise and quiet, that even the
124 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
Ijoix-eyed guardians of the trains never discovered her.
She knew perfectly well that she was contraband, and
submitted to any kind of restraint patiently. Then her
joy when we arrived, and she could feel free once more,
was unbounded, and so plainly manifested that no one
could doubt that reason as well as sound logic had exer-
cised her brains on the subject
At length, after a varied and honorable career, during
which she gave us the mininiuni of trouble and the max-
imum of pleasure, the fatal moment came to Bushie, as
it must to all of ua She sickened and died in Bome
in the spring of 1867, still in the fulness of strength and
beauty, although fifteen years of age. On that night,
when watching over her last moments, friends came in as
usual, but there was a heavy cloud over the household.
One among them, a young English poet and artist, who
knew nothing of what was transpiring above stairs, wrote
the next day the following note, which seems worthy of
transcribing here.
'' Dear Miss Cushhan : I was sorry that I should have re-
mained so long with you last evening, when I learned that you
had just lost a favorite pet animal and were suffering that
pain. Those misfortunes are not always the easiest to bear
of which the world thinks the least, any more than those are
the greatest which may appear so. The loss of any living
creature to which the epithet 'most faithful' may be ap-
plied is certainly among the very real ones.
" May I be permitted, therefore, to express my sympathy
with you under the loss, and beg to be accepted,
''Your faithful and obedient servant,
" W. D."
" P. S. The Latin word for * most faithful ' is fidelissimus ;
but I suppose the feminine termination would be a, — fidelis-
Dear Bushie lies buried in the garden of No. 38, Via
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 125
Oregoriana Over her lemains stands a broken antique pil-
lar, aiound the base of which cluster the acanthus, violets,
and many sweet flowera Upon the marble is engraved,
" Bushie, Comes Fiddimma*^ She was the dog par excel-
lence, but there were others in the family. One, a Scotch
terrier of the pepper-and-mustard breed, named Brier, was
run over by the carnage and buried where he fell, in a lonely
part of the Campagna. Another was Teddy, a toy terrier
of the English breed, who afterwards became the property
of a dear friend. Miss Blagden of Florence. She was a
devoted dog-lover, and much might be written of her dog
and cat family, which was composed of strays and waifs
which her benevolence toward the canines induced her
to give home and care to. One of these, the ugliest kind
of a poodle, she rescued fix>m some boys who were amus-
ing themselves in drowning it by inches in Venica It
was without form, and void of grace or comeliness, so she
bestowed upon it the classic name of " Ven^zia " I
Miss Isa Blagden's name must not be passed over with
slight mention in this record. She was one of Miss Cush-
man's most faithful friends, a warm, true, and ardent soul,
whom Florence and many friends will long remember.
She died in 1873, and the obituary notices of her death
speak of her as " one well known in the world of letters,
and remarkable for the warmth of attachment she inspired
in men and women of acknowledged genius, as weU as for
her own intellectual gifts. Miss Blagden was linked to
Mr. Browning and his illustrious wife by ties of the clos-
est friendship. She nursed the latter in her last illness,
and performed the same loving oflSce for Theodosia Trol-
lope, to whose memory, as well as to Mrs. Browning's,
grateful Florence has erected a commemorative tablet It
may be added that her charitable presence gladdened the
last moments of many more obscure sufferers in the fair
126 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAl^:
city where she lived and died, and where she will be long
remembered as a conspicuous and honored figura" When-
ever Miss Cushman's journeys to and from England took
Florence in their way, she rarely failed to pause for a time
at Miss Blagden's villa> on the classic hill of Bellosguardo^
where she dispensed for many years a genial and charm-
ing hospitality. When haste made this visit impossible.
Miss Blagden would go any distance to meet the travellers
and exchange with them a passing greeting. On one oc-
casion, when Miss Gushman was hurrying to England to
her mother^s death-bed, after a night's journey, as the
train rolled into the station in the early morning, there
sat the faithful little woman on the platform, having risen
in the small hours and come a long distance from the
country to exchange a hurried fieurewelL Miss Cushman,
as long as she herself lived, kept her memory green by
ministering care of her grave in the Protestant cemetery
at Florence.
Miss Blagden was on a visit to Miss Cushman in Bome,
at the time of Bushie's death, and her loving sympathy
inspired the following tribute : —
TO DEAR OLD BUSHIE.
FBOM ONX WHO LOVED HER.
Much loving and much loved, dare I,
With my weak, faltering praise,
Record thy pure fidelity,
Thy patient, loving ways ;
Thy wistfiil, eager, gasping sighs.
Our sollen sense to reach ;
The solemn meaning of thine eyes,
More clear than uttered speech ;
Thy silent sympathy with tears,
Thy joy our joys to share ;
In weal and woe, through all these years,
Our treasure and our care ;
HER LIFE, LETTERS^ AND MEMORIES. 127
Thy dxanh, adoring gratitade,
Noble, yet tender too»
Respondent to each varied mood.
Not human, but more tme f
They say we are not kin to thee,
Thy race unlike our own, —
that our human friends could be
like thee, thou faithful one 1
The wondrous privilege of love.
Love perfect and entire,
Was thine, true heart ; to naught above
Can human hearts aspire !
From all our Uvea some fiiith, some trust,
With thy dear life is o'er ;
A life-long love Ues in thy dust ;
Can human grave hold more f
After Boshie, our desire for dogs was natnrally
somewhat quenched, and we did not seek to replace her;
but the gracious gift of another Skye of good blood and
antecedents at Malvern could not be rejected, and a few
words must be said concerning this dear dog also. She
was called " Duchess/' as her mothers and grandmothers,
and Dr. John Brown knows how many more generations
back, had been called before her. Any one so disposed may
read in that delightful book called " Horse Subsecivse '' in
England, and " Spare Hours " in America, the story of this
family, under the head " Duchess." She was a worthy
descendant of this illustrious line, full of ability, capacity,
and good sense. Her docility was especially remarkable ;
she rapidly acquired any desired trick or accomplishment,
and seemed to have real enjoyment in the performance
of them. It was enough to give her the idea that you
wanted her to do a special thing, and she set herself to
acquire it, with what seemed like real thoughtfulness.
128 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
She could sit up, stand up, walk about on her hind 1^,
sit with her paws on the table, and preach, when requested
to do so, with great unction ; speak when spoken to, play
games of hide and seek with untiring assiduity, never
giving up an object until she had found it ; and yet, with
all these cultivated tastes, her behavior out of doors was
always that of the most abandoned child of nature. To
see her leap through long grass or ferns was a sight to
behold for gracefulness and beauty. Duchess was also
a good traveller; instead of concealing her as we had
always done Bushie, it was found best to let her take care
of herself; in the stations she seemed to know she must
not identify herself with us, and we carefully avoided
taking notice of her, further than keeping her in sight
She would sit off at a distance, perfectly composed and
calm in the midst of the direful confusion of the station,
but watching her opportunity carefully; and when we
were passed, as is the custom on Continental railways,
like prisoners being let out upon the platform, and hurried,
first come first served, to get the best places we could, she
would get through between the feet of the crowd and into
the carriage in the same way, ensconcing herself under
the seat, and only showing herself when we were fairly
started. One of these journeys — our last journey from
Eome — occurs to my remembranca We had with us
a cage, with a pair of canary-birds, members of a large
family left behind, which had grown and increased year
by year, and made vocal and cheerftd the back entrance to
the house. These little birds were mated, and afterwards
in Paris completed their domestic arrangements, and the
little wife was sitting on four eggs, when it came our
time to cross over to England. Of course we expected
that the racket of the journey would break up this domes-
tic felicity, but it could not be helped. To our surprise.
HER UFE, LETTEBS, AND IfEMORIES. 129
however, the devoted little creature stuck to her duties
through aU the thundering noises of the stations, the
vibration and rattle of the express-train, the moving and
tossing of the channel steamer. The cage was weU
wrapped up, leaving only a small space at the top for
air. When looked in upon through this opening she was
always found in her nest, and the Uttle yellow head would
turn and the bright eye glance upward, as much as to
say, ''What does it all mean ? How long this tornado
lasts I " And then she would snuggle down again, saying
more plainly than words by the movement, " Well, come
what will, my place is here." Well, those ^gs were
hatched shortly after our arrival, and it was such a
remarkable fact in natural history, that we hoped much
we might be able to keep the little creatures which had
come through such a trying experience ; but they did not
thrive. The damp, raw English spring affected them
badly, and they dropped off one by one. The parents
came to this country and lived out their little span, much
loved, and much lamented ; but they never succeeded in
raising another feimily, even under the most favorable
conditions.
The subject of the household creatures is not complete
without some mention of Miss Cushman's horses, which
she held in the same warm esteem as the rest of her
dumb dependants. She was a great lover of horses, and
possessed many rare animals in her tima Of these, the
first and best loved was the noble English blood-horse
" Ivan," a bright chestnut of incomparable breeding. He
was a hunter 'par excellence, but she never used him for
hunting in Some. She preferred a good reliable Soman
horse, not so handsome, but wise in his generation, who
knew the Campagna thoroughly, and could be trusted to
get himself and his rider safely through the varied snares
130 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
and pitfalls of that fascinating but dangerous ground.
Grand Ivan would have faced any danger, and gone over
any wall, even if it had a precipice on the other side of it ;
but Othello would know where he could go and where he
could not, by the sure instinct of the Campagna horses,
and would find a way round, or positively refuse to go
where danger lurked. There were many dangers in this
Campagna riding ; but of this we will speak in another
place. Ivan in Home was put in harness, and the first
time he felt the ignoble traces ou his satin skin every
vein stood out over his body in high relief, and the thin
fine nostril became red as blood ; ears, eyes, tail, every
part of him, expressed his astonishment and disgust
But he was of too noble a nature to disgrace himself by
insubordination ; he submitted, and did his whole duty
ever after in the most docile and admirable way, never
losing the superb bearing and action which always char-
acterized him. When the Boman house was broken up
Ivan was sent to good friends in England, and lived a
happy, honored life with them, carrying a lovely lady in
the Park, and always distinguished to the last above all
others by his uncommon beauty. Other horses there
were, but we will only recall here the ponies, Beduin,
Charley, and Alwin, The first was a Welsh pony of good
stock, reared by a dear friend who brought up her horses
as she would her children, and consequently created in
them something almost equivalent to a souL Beduin was
a beautiful little creature, full of genial and social traits.
He loved and craved human society, and liked nothing
better than to be the centre of a circle of petting and
admiring fnenda He would tuck his head under the
hand which failed to pat him ; and even in harness and
on the road would always incline toward whatever he
was meeting, especially if a dog was of the company.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOHIEa 131
This habit obliged his driver to be always on guard
against too close contact His career was not long ; the
soft Italian dimate did not suit his mountain tempera-
ment; the very first summer he was left in Bome he
fell ill, and nothing could save him, though he had been
sprinkled by the priest on the blessed day of San Antonio,
to please the Italian groom, who duly decorated him with
ribbons for the ceremony. After this he always went by
the name of '' The Blessed " among us. Let us hope that
the holy rite, though it failed to preserve him here, may
procure for him admission to some happy hunting-groimd
across the border.
He was replaced by Charley, a beautiful English pony,
and Alwin, a handsome gray ; and these two went through
many of the Boman winters, and are still living, — the
property of English Mends.
Very little that is new remains to be said of the famed
Campagna di Boma : all the greatest names in literature and
art have celebrated it; it has been sung, described, painted,
ad infinitum. Only in its connection with Miss Cushman's
life in Bome shall I refer to it; all visitors to Bome know
how potent are its influences, how laige a place it fills to
the mind, as it does to the senses. Biding in the Cam-
pagna is one of the most esteemed pleasures of the season,
and an Excellent and very needful stimulant against the
enervating Italian climata Before the Boman himt was
inaugurated, riding in large parties was the custom, and
these rides were much more pleasant, though less excit-
ing, perhaps, than the hunt, which was often a mere vneet
with a few wild scampers over a circumscribed range of
country, full of hair-breadth 'scapes, and little other result
It is true there was an immense fascination about himt-
ing in Bome, on the score of picturesqueness and varied
excitement The meets were usually held at the most
132 CHABLOTTE CUSHKAN :
beautiM and historically interesting points that could
be selected, where all the surroundings, beside gratify-
ing the eye, supplied to the mind suggestive niaterial
of the rarest kind. It was what the Italians would call
a " cimhmassione" unsurpassed in beauty and interest All
that was best and highest and prettiest and most noted
in Borne flocked to this gathering, — the Boman aristoc-
racy, not good as himters or noted for skill in horse-flesh;
the sturdy, solid, undemonstrative English, with soiled
red coats speaking of real work, and noble horses un-
equalled for speed and endurance ; our own coimtry peo-
ple, alert, ready, making mistakes, but profiting by them,
not so well up in horses, but getting every bit of eneigy
and go out of their hacks, '' trying all things," holding on
or letting go with equal facility, and pretty sure to be in
at the death, though what is technically called ''the death "
was by no means a forgone conclusioa
The Boman foxes possessed advantages in their favor
which made it difficult to catch them. The Campagna
is, in fact, in many places a vast rolling roof covering
buried buildings, and honeycombed everywhere by hidden
galleries and hollows, no doubt very familiar to their vul-
pine habitu^. It is rarely the dogs can overtake them
far fix)m their burrows, and once in them the chase is
hopeless. These hollows, or grotti, as they are called, are
very dangerous to riders, the thin crust of earth often
giving way imder the weight of the horse, and throwing
him suddenly to the ground, sometimes breaking his legs,
or inflicting worse damage. There is no warning what-
ever of these hidden pitfalls; the turf looks as smiling
over them as elsewhere, only fate lurks below and seizes
one out of a hundred by the leg which happens to touch
upon the small weak point Little reck the hunters of
these dangers, however, as they go at headlong pace after
HER UFB, LETTEBS, AND HEMOBIES. 133
the poor little game, useless, when they have secured it,
except for self-glorificatioa
But hunting is, after all, only a pretext ; the fox is the
least part of it ; and we cannot condemn heartily a sport
which leads to so much of health and enjoyment and
manliness, which, as in these Boman hunts, brought to-
gether — into one blazing focus, as it were — so much of
the interest and beauty and suggestiveness of the feonous
capital and its sunoimdings. 0, those unsurpassed days,
— days of glory and beauty, in which the very air seemed
like golden wine burning and tingling in the veins ! An
atmosphere so pure and translucent it seemed to bring
down heaven to earth or lift earth to heaven ; a vast dis-
tance lying in serene repose under its blue shadows, con-
trasting the animation, the brightness, the color of the
immediate for^[roimd, — dogs, horses, people, all full of
joyous excitement; pictures everywhere, charming groups,
breakii^ and shifting and changing every minute, with
ever new and ever efiective combinations; finally, the
grand outbreak, when, summoned by the horn of the
huntsman and the deep bay of the hoimds, the pageant
sweeps away like scarlet leaves scattered before the wind.
Meantime the carriages and the lookers-on follow along
as they can, by the highway, or sometimes taking a short
cut across the greensward, hoping that one of those
chances which so often occur in the chase may bring the
hunt bcu^ upon its traces.
Glorious as the hunt was, its attractions by no means
compensated for the loss of the rides, which the greater
attractions of the himt caused to fall into disuse. The
rides were explorations in a certain sense ; they brought
one into ''strange fields and pastures new '' continually, and
often into very great difficulties and some dangers from
venturing into the "pastures new" aforesaid. The Cam-
134 CHAKLOTTE CUSHMAK :
pagnoU, or shepherds and farmers of the Campagna, are
veiy jealous of intrusion upon their fields, and often with
reasoa There was much inexcusable tampering with
their rights and property, in the shape of broken-down
fences, etc. Some adventurous equestrians even rode
with a small hatchet at the saddle-bow for this purpose ;
and, naturally, the owners of the fences resented this
bitterly, and were at times aggressive, even to the ex-
tent of using their firearms, — at least, so it was said;
though no serious mischief of that kind ever occurred, to
my knowledge. There was also another danger, in the
shape of the savage sheep-dogs, trained to be fierce in
the protection of their flocks. It was not pleasant to
have a dozen or more of these creatures baying and
barking, and sometimes biting the horses' heels, and dire-
ful stories were told of what they were capable of doing.
These dogs and the beautiful cattle of the Campagna
deserve a word of mention, they seem so appropriate to
the locality. The dogs have little tents or huts made of
straw, in which they live; and sometimes two or three
soft, shaggy young ones sit gravely in the opening of
these tents, looking forth with contemplative aspect upon
the world. They are large, handsome creatures, and un-
tiring and most intelligent in their vocation, supplement-
ing the efforts of their masters in collecting the sheep
with wonderfiil sagacity and zeaL When the flock is all
safely huddled together in the appointed spot, the dogs
station themselves like sentinels at a distance, seated at
regular intervals awaiting further orders.
The grand, slow, cream-colored oxen of the Campagna,
with their wide-spread, branching horns and large, soft
black eyes, make another characteristic feature of the
scene, enhancing its peaceful solemnity. Sometimes in
the valleys, which intersect the Campagna everywhere
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, LSD BiEMOBIES. 135
like great cliasms which have been suddenly rent asunder
by volcanic violence in the otherwise monotonous plain,
herds of small active horses scamper away fix)m before you,
rushing up the slopes covered with cork-trees and ilex and
clothed with asphodel and other wild foliage, stopping,
when they have attained a point of vantage, to gaze with
wild eyes at the intruders upon their solitude. These
valleys are wonderfully beautiful and picturesque, gener-
ally carpeted with the softest verdure, broken by winding
streams which have to be crossed often at the risk of the
equestrian. You descend into them, like Dante and Vir-
gil into the recesses of the Inferno ; and, indeed, one of
the most noted of them is called the Valley of the In-
ferno. Not that they are like the Inferno, or even the
purgatorial regions, when you get into them. On the
contrary, they are decidedly heavenly, and impart very
paradisaical sensations as one scampers over the soft turf
and follows their winding and constantly varied openings.
The wild horses above mentioned belong to the noble
families of Bome, and are raised in large numbers ; each
horse bears on his flank the brand of the family to which
he belongs. They are clever Utile horses, sure-footed and
enduring, but not very handsome in the eyes of a connois-
seur. Miss Cushman's favorite mount for many years
was a black Campagna horse, which she preferred for
safety and comfort to any of her English horses. He pos-
sessed the invaluable quality of going when you wanted
him to go cmd not going when you did not, being an
honest creature who did the best that was in him ; the
best can do no more !
Emerging from these valleys in the same sudden way
that you enter them, you find yourself again on the level —
or apparently level — Campagna, and the eye ranges quite
over and beyond them as if they no longer existed. Some
136 CHABLOTTS CUSHMAK:
knowledge of the Campagna is veiy necessary in taking
a ride of any lengtk You can easily get lost upon it,
and wander aimlessly, at times stopped by fences or un-
fordable stieams, and obliged to go back on your own
tracks again and again. Memory recalls how on one such
occasion a dinner-party awaited Miss Cushman at home,
and night fell upon fruitless efforts to find the nearest
way hdick. At length, emerging upon the high-road, it
was found that many long miles lay between the party
and its destination, and tiiey arrived at last, weaiy and
worn, to find the guests assembled full of consternation
at their absence ; but the dinner, albeit a Uttle spoiled,
was not the less merry over the misadventure.
Around the old walls was also a favorite ride, always
cool in the heavy shadows of the massive battlemented
towers, fall of interest and variety on the one side, if not
on the other, though the walls themselves are beautiful
also to antiquarian eyes as well as to the lover of nature,
from the many new and peculiar growths which cluster
upon them It was possible to go all round the city in
this circuit, or to enter again at any one of the numerous
gates which open at intervals through the solid masonry.
Nothing could be more varied, more peculiar, more quaint
and wonderful, than the scenes traversed in these rides
and drives. Often we paused to descend &om the car-
riage and explore some picturesque ruin, or gather wild-
flowers imder the arches of the massive aqueducts, which
come striding into Bome from all points, like giants, but
beneficent ones; some ruined, but towering grand and
massive in their decay, wreathed and decorated with
climbing foliage, and framing within their graceful arches
wondrous pictures, or bearing on their shoulders the
bright and aboimding water for which Bome is famous.
Toward the spring, which often commences as early as
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND HEMOBIEa 137
the middle of February, the enyiions of Borne brust out
into a succession of floral enchantments, unique and un-
paralleled; the roadside banks are purple with violets^
which cluster in perfumed groups in all the bosky dells
an*d emerald slopes of the numerous lovely villas in the
neighborhood of Bome. Violet-gathering — by hundreds,
by thousands, by the bushel — is the feature of the hour.
The very air is full of them ; and later on comes the won-
derful festa of the anemones, — not like the flaming red
flowers with the black hearts which light the way along
the Bivi^re, although some of these are also found among
them, — but a delicate, single cup, of endless shades of
soft color, &om the purest white through all the tints of
lilac, mauve, and pink ; some deep, some hardly touched
with color, no two alike. They spring up all over the
grass, and never seem to lessen while the season lasts, for
all the gathering. Special expeditions to gather these
sweet children of the spring were among our annual pleas-
nre& All thought the anemones enjoyed it too ; for they
bloomed and opened and closed night and morning in
water quite as well as they did upon their native heath.
Some took them up root and all and made mosaic tables
of them ; a barbarous practice, which must end in depriv-
ing the fields of one of their greatest attractions.
Besides the anemones and violets were no end of other
charming growths, whose advent each spring was hailed
with never-failing enthusiasm, flowers, both wild and
cultivated, are abundant and cheap in Bome. Every one
will remember the roses, the cyclamen, the famous ranim-
culi, Uke roses in variety and beauty, but without their
perfume. The short Boman spring is a season imsur-
passed in any country in the world ; but it i3 a fleeting
beauty, which must be caught flying, as it were ; for, after
a few short days of virginal perfection, it rushes into the
full flush and passionate luxuriance of summer.
138 CHABLOTIE CUSHMAN:
Miss Cusliman never wearied of these simple pleasures,
and each one, as the season came round, was welcomed by
her with ever new delight The spring, too, inaugurated
a succession of excursions to the many points of interest
about Eome ; to Albemo, to Tivoli, to some new excava-
tion or recently discovered treasure. Thus she saw the
last and finest portrait statue of the Vatican, ^ — that of
Augustus Caesar, carrying on into maturer life the fine
lineaments so well known in the head of the young Au-
gustus, just as it was taken fix)m the earth, still ** stained
with the variation of each soil," broken and prostrate, but
full of nobleness, artistic and imperial She saw, too, the
great bronze statue of the young Hercules as it was lifted
from its bed of oyster-shells, with remnants of the gilding
which had once covered it still clinging here and there,
and peered curiously into the opening in the top of the
head, through which it was supposed the priests had ut-
tered their pretended oracles.
Ever new and constantly recurring surprises of this
kind belong to Bome alone, where the long-buried past
rises up to confront the present, and, ghostlike, '' in their
habit as they lived,** the actors in a remote antiquity stalk
again across the stage. Other civilizations we know lie
buried; we know that the earth teems with them; but
they lie in barren desolation, save where individual effort
and enthusiasm brings them with difficulty to the light
of day ; but in Bome the foot unearths them, the common
way is strewn with them, the earth is hollow with their
crumbling remains, the river rolls its yellow tide over
them, and the very air is full of their suggestions. In
Bome alone the old and the new exist togetJier and can
never be disimited.
Following upon the foregoing description of Miss Cush-
man's home surroundings in Bome, I may refer to a letter
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 139
lately received from Miss Elizabeth Peabody of Boston,
in which I find some early remembrances and later refer-
ences to her life in Home, which are interesting and val-
uable. Speaking of the first time she saw her act Queen
Katharine, she says : —
** I need not say how I enjoyed her splendid impersonation
throughout, but specially the death scene. It was perfectly
wonderful how she blended the infirmities of dying with the
majesty of her spirit. But especially I was struck anew with
the miraculous genius of Shakespeare as evinced in that last
speech to Cromwell, in which Queen Katharine characterized
Wolsey, in those sharp, heavily thought-freighted sentences,
which it was obvious must be just so concise and terse, because
the fast-coming death so overcame her power to utter that it
was only by the intense will she could utter at all, and so
was forced to concentrate in the few words of each sentence.
Then in the veiy death she did not seem to struggle much,
did not evince physical pain, only torpor of organs. She went
out of the body almost visibly, while the song of angels was
sung behind the scenes.
'' When she returned again in 1860 she gave me a season
ticket, and I went down from Concord to Boston, and saw her
through the whole, constantly surprised to new admiration by
each impersonation. I do not know but I thought Bosalind
the most marvellous of alL Her wit and grace and make-up
making her seem but twenty-eight ; and changing my former
idea of a petite Rosalind into the new one of so fine and laige
a figure, which of course I saw Rosalind must have been,
to match the force of character that conceived her bold
enterprise.
''Another seven years passed before I saw her in Rome,
and experienced the generous friendship and hospitality which
made those five months so rich in opportunities of enjoyment.
But even amid the glories of Rome there was nothing that I
studied with more interest and intensity than herself. Such
140 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
simplicity and direotness and humility of heart was to me
most touching and wonderful in a person of such magnificent
executive powers. Tou remember the conversations at those
delightful breakfasts, to which she invited me every morning t
Never was my own mind in such an intense state of activity.
It seems to me that I came to my mental majority that year,
and all my own life and the world's life, as history had taught
it to me, was explained. Principles seemed to rise up over the
rich scenery of human life, like the white peaks of the Alps
^ over the Swiss valleys, which were to me the most exciting and
transporting objects in nature, — transporting surely, for they
cany one beyond the limits of the finite. Do you recollect
how I used to come and announce my discoveries in the world
of monds and spiritual life, whose gates seemed to be opened to
me by the historical monuments, as well as the masterpieces of
art t What golden hours those were when such grand recep-
tive hearts and imaginations bettered one's thoughts in the
reply 1 And were not some of those evenings symposia of the
gods ? Do you remember one when she read * The Halt before
Rome' to Lord Houghton, Lothrop, Motley, Bayard Taylor,
yourself, and met Can you, or anybody with mortal pen,
describe so that readers could realize the high-toned, artistic,
grandly moral, delightfully human nature, that seemed to be
the palpable atmosphere of her spirit, quickening all who
surrendered themselves to her influence t What sincerity,
what appreciation of truth and welcome of it (even if it
wounded her) ; what bounteousness of nature ; and how the
breath of her mouth winnowed the chaff from the wheat
in her expression of observed character and judgment of
conduct 1 Those she loved she watched over that no shadow
of falsehood or of infirmity should be allowed to touch their
whitenesa She truly ' respected what was dear ' to her, and
her respect was a safeguard and rescuer from moral perils.
One of the last times I saw her I remember her earnest affec-
tionate appeal to a young friend to foiget herself and her
appearance to others, in the noble unconsciousness that springs
HEB UFBy LETTEBS^ AND IfEMORIES. 141
unbidden fix>m surrendering one's self to some generous idea,
and the sweet impulse of making others happy and appreciated.
It must have waked an echo that will forever repeat itself for
I thmk it may have been the last time the young girl ever
saw her.
** Have you recorded that conversation of hers with Mr.
Peabody when she returned from America, and asked him to
withdraw $25,000 from American securities in 1860 ; and he
said * O no, he could not in conscience as her banker do it,
for of course the business men of the world were not going to
let this war go on,' and gold was then at 128; and she
replied, ' Mr. Peabody, I saw that first Maine regiment that
answered to Lincoln's call march down State Street in Boston
with their chins in the air, singing ''John Brown's soul is
marching on," and, believe me, this war will not end till
slavery is abolished, whether it be in five years or thirty; and
gold will be up to 225 before it is over'1
** With all her respect and regard for Mr. Seward, who said
the war would not last sixty days, she trusted her own in-
tuition, which certainly in this case was proved to be unerring.
''Ah 1 what a loss she is to me, who in comparison with you
and her family only touched the outside of her circle at an
occasional tangent ! By her timely gift to the Boston training-
school for Kindergartners she sustained the cause through an
early peril of perishing by inanition, for my sake. She after-
wards offered to be guaranty nearly to the sum of another
$1,000 to any publisher who would publish my lectures on
the moral meanings of history ; that is, what it taught the
world before the advent of Christ, of which I gave her the
outline ; and I meant to have prepared them for the press by
rewriting them carefully. I never knew a person so ready,
and even ardent, to help and further the efforts and works
of others! There was swimming-room for all the world in
her heart ! She was one of the prophets of the unity of the
human race, — a proof of it, indeed !
" I enclose you a letter ; the only one in which she speaks
142 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAN:
of herself at any length, for generally her letters were only
full of her correspondent's interests or afiairs. Ton must
keep it in a golden box, for I yalue it above all things else
•
she ever gave me."
From the letter above alluded to I make the following
extract: —
''Your letter has done me goody dear friend, and not the
least part of it that which speaks approvingly of my beloved
art, and all that it takes to make an exponent of it It has
been my fate to find in some of my most intimate relations
my art * tabooed,' and held in light esteem. This has always
hurt me ; but my love for my friends has ever been stronger
than my pride in anything else, and so my art has been
* snubbed.' But no one knows better than myself, after all
my association with artists of sculpture or painting, how truly
my art comprehends all the others and surpasses them, in so
&r as the study of mind is more than matter ! Victor Hugo
makes one of his heroines, an actress, say, ' My art endows
me with a searching eye, a knowledge of the soul and the
soul's workings, and, spite of all your skill, I read you to the
depths 1 ' TbiB is a truth more or less powerful as one is
more or less truly gifted by the good God."
^kO.'i^
CHAPTER VII.
BEHIND THE SCENES.
" Tie eagle waSen little blidt to slug.
And U not ctreftil what the; msui thereby."
Tiiat Andnmicui.
" Lore tU, tnut » few, do wrong to none."
JU't WeU That Endt WeO.
S has h&en. much in these later times Tritten
I and said, — much eren preached regarding the
I drama, Mighty changes have been silently at
work in the mimic scene as elsewhere. The ban, which
for 80 many ages has been laid upon the profession, min-
gling together in one common outlawry the good, the bad,
the gifted, and the doll alike, which has been an insur-
mountable barrier to those within and to many without
the pale, has been — or rather is in a fair way of being —
lifted. That domain, that arena, upon which not caily the
mimic pictures of our lives are represented, but where life
itself can best exhibit " ite form and pressure," is beginning
to appear in its true meaning to the minds of men : the
thoughtful ones among them no longer look upon it as a
mere amusement, the occupation of an idle hour; they
b^in to speculate upon it, to look curiously into it, to
revolt at the injustice with which it has been condemned,
to see with " lai^er, other eyes " into its vast capabilities
and possibilities for good, and to take the initiatory steps
144 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
toward breaking down the middle wall of partition whicli
fences off fix)m us one of our truest and most (rod-given
forces for touching the hearts and awakening the con-
sciences of men.
The time is still within the memory of many of us
when to church-people and professors of religion the
very name of the theatre was Anathema; when for a
clergyman to be seen at a theatre was considered a grave
offence against his sacred office; now, 'Vthe Pulpit and
the Stage " are associated together in eloquent discourses.
One of Boston's most saintly men honorably united Miss
Cushman's name after her death with that of Dr. Horace
Bushnell, drawing. a parallel between their respective ca-
reers equally honorable to the actress and to the divine.
Now, yoimg people who aspire to the profession say, with
truth, when argument is excited against their choice, *' I
can be a gentleman (or a lady) as well on the stage as
anywhere else ; it depends upon myself : and as to tempta-
tion, that lies in wait for me at any comer of the city as
well as behind the scenes."
There, as everywhere, good and evil mingle, but evil is
not more indigenous to the soil than good ; rather less so,
if we take into consideration how much evil is fostered
and encouraged for base uses by those into whose hands
the influences of the theatre for good or evil faU. It is
the custom to dwell much upon the temptations of an
actor^s or an actress's life. It may be doubted if these
are much greater there than elsewhere. It may be doubted
if the average of yielding is greater there than elsewhere.
Miss Cushman often said that her experience ''behind the
scenes " had shown her a decided average in favor of good-
ness, purity, and honesty of life ; instances which would
do honor to any station of unpretending conscientious self-
sacrifice and devotion, — worthy mothers, excellent wives,
HER UFEy LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 145
faithfol Mends. There can be no more thrilling repre-
sentations of heroic deeds before the curtain than are
often going on in undemonstrative silence and patient
endurance behind it There is no class more kind to one
another, none more generous ; their faults all lean to vir^
tue's side ; and when we reckon up their sins of omission
and commission, a candid and unbiased judgment will
admit that in the eternal equilibrium of forces their
worser qualities will surely "kick the beam."
''Behind the scenes" is such a terra incognita to the
world at large, that few are able to judge righteous
judgment from the standpoint of personal experience.
To those who have this experience it ought to be a duty
as well as a pleasure to speak a word in season for a
much misunderstood and ill-judged class, who have in-
herited the prejudices of ages, and yet have been able to
show so many shining examples of genius and goodness
to the admiration of the world.
It was one of Miss Cushman's crowning glories, that
she knew how to reconcile the inconsistencies and har-
monize the discordances of this peculiar realm, where she
reigned with the same undoubted sovereignty as every-
where eke. Her mere presence on the boards seemed to
give life and value to what was too often a mere collection
of incongruous materials. Her earnestness, her thorough-
ness, seemed to be at once infused into the mass of iner-
tia, ignorance, and indifference ; all had to do their best,
because she always did her best ; and her best was not, as
in so many instances, a mere ego^ stalking around, wrapped
in its own sublime self-confidence, looking down upon
and ignoring the lesser lights as of no consequenca Her
artistic ideal was of a different sort ; she knew and felt
the absolute truth of the old, time-honored law, that
" Qod hath set the members every one of them in the
146 eHABLOTTS CUSHMAJf:
body, as it hath pleased him .... That there should be
no schism in the bodj, but that the members should have
the smne care one for another. .... And whether one
member suffer, aU the members sufifor with it; or one
member be honored, all the members rejoice with it"
And she could not see anything working wrongly or
ignorantly, without doing her very best to right it. Her
rehearsals were always hard-working lessons to all about
her; and that in no unkind or harsh spirit, but with all
the kindly helpfulness of her nature, suggesting, encour-
agix^f, showing how a thing ought to be done, and, when
she saw the true spirit of endeavor and improvement,
giving it a cheering word which was invaluable.
This peculiar gift of hers gave occasion for a very
pleasant demonstration after one of her last engagements
at Mr. McVicker's Chicago Theatre, which may be fit-
tingly mentioned hera After her last performance, as
she was preparing to leave the theatre, a message came to
her, that the manager would be glad to see her for a few
moments in the green-room. There had been no whisper
of what was intended ; it was totally unexpected to her,
when, on entering the green-room, she found the entire
company assembled, expectation in all their faces. The
friendly and genial manager made a pleasant little i^eech,
and then proceeded to read the following letter : —
'^MoYiOKBB's Thkatrx, CfiiOAOO, Jtnuaiy 10, 1873.
'' Miss Charlotte Cushm an : As members of a profession to
which you, not only as an artist, but as a htdy and true
woman, have contributed the earnest seal and heartfelt labors
ef a lifetime to ennoble and honor, we, members of Mr.
MoTicker's Theatre, desiring to express to you our appre-
ciation, present, tfarou^ our worthy manager, this circlet
of gold, inscribed with the motto that haa so endeared you
to U8| and whioh is no less engraven on our hearts, nunely,
HEB LIFE^ LKTTSBd, AXTD MfiMORIES. 147
' kind words.' May your happiness here and in the great
hereafter be only symholed by this golden cirdet, ' endless.' "
Signed by all the members of the company.
The ring was a plain cirdet of black enamel, having
Tipoa it in gold letters the simple legend, " Kind words.
McVicker's Theatre, January 11, 1873," — a plain me-
mento, but one which expressed a priceless value. Miss
Cushman made a hasty, pleasant speech of thanks, and
retired beaming. She WBa greatly pleased and touched ;
ao tribute that was ever paid her gratified her more.
Behind the scenes, as before them. Miss Cushman was
always thoroughly herself, energetic, capable, equal to
any emergency, competent to any necessity; what was
right she would have, and she knew how to bend the most
stubborn materials to har behests ; and yet this was never
done in a domineering or captious spirit, but by the sheer
force of " character," that most supreme of gifts.
Under this head it may not be inappropriate to recall
some remembrances of the part which more than any
other is identified with her name, and may be said to
have been her own special creation, that of Meg Merrilies.
I have sought in vain among the newspaper files of the
period for the absolute date of her first performance of
this character; but other evidence settles it as having
been in the year 1840-41, during Bmham's first and
only engagement in New York, and at the Park Theatre.
Her own account of it was substantially as follows. But
first it may be mentioned that there is one very ancient
newspaper-cutting, which is, however, without name or
date, in which the fact of her assumption of the part at a
moment's notice is thus alluded to : —
'' Many years ago Miss Charlotte Cushman was doing at the
Park Theatre what in st»ge parlance is called 'general utiUty
143 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
business,' — that is, the work of three ordinary performers,
filling the gap when any one was sick, playing this one's part
and the other's on occasion, never refusing to do whatever was
allotted to her. As may be supposed, one who held this posi-
tion had as yet no position to be proud of. One night ' Guy
Mannering,' a musical piece, was announced. It was produced
by Mr. Braham, the great English tenor, who played Hany
Bertram. Mrs. Chippendale was cast for Meg Merrilies, but
during the day was taken ill ; so this obscure utility actress,
this Miss Cushman, was sent for and told to be ready in the
part by night. She might read it on the boards if she could
not commit it. But the ' utility woman ' was not used to
reading her parts ; she learned it before nightfall, and played
it after nightfall. She played it so as to be enthusiastically
applauded. At this half-day's notice the part was taken up
which is now so famous among dramatic portraitures."
It was in consequence of Mrs. Chippendale's illness
that she was called upon on the very day of the perform-
ance to assume the part Study, dress, etc., had to be an
inspiration of the moment She had never especially no-
ticed the part ; as it had been heretofore performed there
was not probably much to attract her ; but, as she stood
at the side-scene, book in hand, awaiting her moment of
entrance, her ear caught the dialogue going on upon the
stage between two of the gypsies, in which one says to
the other, alluding to her, "Meg, — why, she is no longer
what she was ; she doats," etc., evidently giving the im-
pression that she is no longer to be feared or respected ;
that she is no longer in her right mind. With the words
a vivid flash of insight struck upon her brain : she saw
and felt by the powerful dramatic instinct with which
she was endowed the whole meaning and intention of
the character ; and no doubt from that moment it became
what it never ceased to be, a powerful, original, and con-
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEM0BIE3. 149
sistent conception in her mind. She gave herself with
her usual concentrated energy of purpose to this concep-
tion, and flashed at once upon the stage in the startling,
weird, and terrible manner which we aU so well remem-
ber. On this occasion it so astonished and confounded
Mr. Braham, little accustomed heretofore to such mani-
festations, that he went to her after the play to express
his surprise and his admiration.
" I had not thought that I bad done anything remarkable,"
she says, ''and when the knock came at my dressing-room
door, and I heard Brabam's voice, my first thought was, ' Now,
what have I done 1 He is surely displeased with me about
something ' ; for in those days I was only the ' utility actress,'
and had do prestige of position to carry me through. Imagine
my gratification when Mr. Braham said, ' Miss Cushman, I have
come to thank you for the most veritable sensation I have
experienced for a long time. I give you my word, when I
turned and saw you in that first scene I felt a cold chill run
all over me. Where have you learned to do anything like
thatr"
Prom this time the part of Meg grew and strengthened,
retaining always its perfect unity and consistency, until it
became what it was, an absolute jewel of dramatic art, —
a standing comment and contradiction of the oft-repeated
assertion that the public must and will have variety. The
public must and will have excellence ; and when it gets
it, cannot have it too often repeated. The true heart of
humanity responds always to truths and recognizes the
absolute ideal, which is only the real in its highest mani-
festation, and thrills as one string when the master-hand
touches it If theatrical managers and theatrical people
could only once recognize this and act upon it, what
might not the theatre become? A book might well be
150 CHAJtLOTTE CTJSHMAir:
written on this subject, taMng the part of ULeg as its text
and its iUostration.
Meg, behind the scenes, was quite as remarkable as
before them. It was a study for an artist, and has been
so to many, to witness the process of preparation for this
notable character, — the makeup, as they call it in the
parlance of the theatre, — a regular, systematic, and thor-
oughly artistic performance, wrought out with the same
instinctive knowledge which was so manifest in all she
did. " Miss Cushman," a distinguished lady artist once
said to her, as she wonderingly watched the process where-
by the weird hag grew out of the pleasant and genial linea-
ments of the actress, "how do you know where to put in
those shadows and make those lines which so accurately
give the eflFect of age ? " "I don't krum," was the answer^
" I only feel where they ought to come." And in fact the
process was like the painting of a face by an old Dutch
master, full of delicate and subtle manipulations, and yet
so adapted to the necessities of space and light that its
effect was only enhanced, not weakened, when subjected
to them.
Everybody will remember this vision of age, glowing
with purpose, instinct with fidelity, inspired with devo-
tion even unto death, — strong yet weak, full of the con-
trasts of matter and spirit, subordinated even in all its
material manifestations to the master conception. ''It
is terrible," says one ; " it tears one all to pieces.*' " It is
lovely," says another ; " it melts my heart." " She is a
witch,*' says a third, " from the crown of her head to the
tips of her toes." Look at that attitude ! the very limbs
express and typify a life of privation, of hardship, of suf-
fering. Hear that laugh ! it thrills one with the super-
natural emphasis of a spirit more than a human creature.
Then, again, listen to the soft, tender, loving tones of the
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 151
voice, as with the tremitloasness of age it croons over
the boy the scmgs of his infancy, or changes to ringing
notes of ecstatic joy as she sees awakening in his mind
the dim remembrances she is seeking to evoke.
The costume of Meg is another subject upon which
much of interest might be written ; how it gradually grew,
as all artistic things must, from the strangest materials ; a
bit picked up here, another there, — seemingly a mass of
incoherent rags and tatters, but fall of method and mean-
ing; every scrap of it put together with refwrence to
antecedent experiences, — the wind, the storm, the out-
door life of hardship, the tossing and tempering it had
received through its long wanderings; and which to
an artist's eye is beyond price, seemingly a bundle of
rags, and yet a royal garment, for the truly queenly
character of the old gypsy ennobled every thread of it.
How many of those who felt this quality in the wearer
noticed how the battered head-dress was arranged in
vague and shadowy semblance to a crown, the gnarled
and twisted branch she carried suggesting the emblem
of command ?
Much and great has been the wonder of those who saw
the dress off her person, how she ever contrived to get
into it ; no earthly creature, but herself and Sallie, knew
the mysterious exits and entrances of that extraordinary
garment, the full completion of which seemed like a
nightly miracle, so homogeneous did she and it become
when brought in contact ; so completely, as she got it
on, did she enter into the personality of Meg and leave
her own behind, ghe was always particular and perfect
in her make-^up, and would have been for an audience
of a dozen as for one of thousands. At times, with bo
much wear and tear, some part of the costume would
require renewal ; the stockings, for example, would wear
152 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
out, and then no end of trouble would come in preparing
another pair, that the exact tint of age and dirt should
be attained. This she achieved with her own hand, by
immersing them in a peculiar dye which she had pre-
pared from diflferent ingredients not generally known to
the regular dyers. During all the early period of the
performance of this part, when it was used more as an
operetta than a drama, it was the custom for the dra-
matis personce to sing a finale after the death of Meg.
This interval gave Miss Cushman opportunity to wash
the paint from her face and remove the head-dress and
gray hair of Meg, so that when she was recalled — as
she always was — she came before the audience her own
sweet, smiling, pleasant self. The contrast between the
wild, weird, intense face of M^ and the genial aspect of
the actress was a veritable sensation, which it was a pity
to lose when afterward the musical finale was omitted,
and the piece concluded with the death of Meg.
Always, wherever M^ was represented, there sprang
up aifaong the " hero-worshippers," a strong desire to pos-
sess some memento of the part and the actress. The
stick which she carried was always greatly in demand ;
and as it was one of the " properties," and always newly
provided for each engagement, there must be many of
these relics scattered about the coimtry. Of those which
she used on the several occasions of farewell, it may be
mentioned that the one she carried in Philadelphia became
the property of Mr. Joseph Lee of that city, who writes
thus pleasantly about it : —
''Mt dear Miss Cushman: Might a friend who equally
admires and loves you ask a very great favor 1 I am * craasy
to acquire ' the stick which you will use next Saturday after-
noon as Meg, to put it in my library as a precious souvenir of
yourself and your great personation.
HEE LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 153
" I will be on hand to receive it from you, if you will have
the goodness to present it to me. I asked this of you two
years ago, but it probably escaped your memory at the time."
The Boston one was given to her friend Mr. Addison
Child, and the one she carried during her last engage-
ment in New York is at ViUa Cushman, with the other
sacred relics of the character ; another one is preserved
in St. Louis, the special property of the children. Apro-
pos of the sticks : on one occasion, while acting in one
of the New England towns, Miss Cushman received a
note from a citizen of the place, telling her that he was
the possessor of a stick which she had carried many years
before, which he highly prized, and asking of her the
great favor that she would allow him to bring it to the
theatre, that it might be used again. She was always
simply pleased with these little incidents, and rendered
an added grace to the favor by the pleasant manner in
which she responded to the request While upon the
subject of relics, I may insert here a note written to the
family after Miss Cushman's death by Mr. Gibson Peat-
cock of Philadelphia.
** I do not want to write a long letter at this time, but I
must tell you of an incident that has affected me much and
given me a better opinion of human nature. Mr. Pugh came
to see me yesterday, and, with a good deal of feeUng, asked
me to accept from him as a gift the reading-desk and chair he
had had made for your aunt, and which she had used at all her
readings in Philadelphia. He thought, as I had introduced
him to her, I was the proper person to own them, especially
as he never intended that any one else should use them. They
are in this house now, and the most sacred of its inanimate
contents. I told him that I accepted them, and that after my
wife and I are gone they are to go to your famUy, and this I
want you and your children to bear in mind."
154 GHABLOTTE <)tJSHHAK :
Another character, not so renowned as Meg Merrilies^
but of somewhat the same type and class, may be remem-
bered by many. It was a part which Miss Cashman had
often assumed in her early days at the Park Theatre,
when she had no choice; and the remembrance of the
powerful effect she had produced in it was a tradition
which lingered in the memory of managers, and caused
them ever and anon^ as their business interests prompted^
to bring great pressure to bear upon her for a reproduction
of it She was too true an artist to be much influenced by
the opinions of others concerning her art; and the idea
that any impersonation which she could feel strongly her-
self and through which she could influence the feelings
of others, could possibly lower her dignity or her position
as an artist, she could not accept for a moment As well
say that a great writer lowers himself by producing such
types of character.
It was sufficient for her that she found in the part
of Nancy Sykes a great opportunity, to which she was
fuUy equal; and it was characteristic of her, that she
shrank from nothing in it, and was able to descend into
the depths of its abasement as thoroughly and potently
as she ascended to the highest range, and touched the
noblest notes of the varied symphony of human nature.
There is a nobility latent in these struggling souls,
which Dickens knew how to recognize and Miss Cush-
man to feel and interpret In poverty, in degradation, in
despair, in the bare plain dress of the people, with no
accessories of beauty or refinement to blunt the keen
edge of the naked truth, she presented a picture worthy
to live, worthy to be commemorated here, for it shone
with the pure light of Divine truth, piercing through aU
the gloom and darkness which surrounded it The never*
dying story of inherent virtue, nobleness, and heroism
HEB IIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMOBIES. 156
Springing tip from the foulest sofl, the old, old story of
good rising triumphant out of evil, and faithful even unto
death, even unto martyrdouL
One cannot quite recognize why the repulsive details
of such a picture should be so readily accepted when
clothed in all the elaboration of an author's imagination,
and yet be found so shocking when acted out before the
eyes ; yet this distinction has always been more or less
carefully drawn. It would seem to depend muoh upon
the manner in which it is dome ; excellence confounds all
cavilling. Miss Cushman's representation of this char-
acter was its own best excuse for being. It was, like
Hamlet, Bomeo, Cardinal Wolsey, unique in the strong
ability which made it possible, — one of the laurel-leaves
of the crown, and not unworthy to be one of that glorious
company.
The following letter, as showing Miss Cushman's prompt
and courageous manner of dealing with any subject which
seemed to call, as she herself says, for some one to throw
themselves into the breach, explains itself. Although this
was an abuse to which she had long ministered in the
sacred cause of charity, when the proper moment came
for a word in season, it was uttered freely and fearlessly.
"The dramatic critic" of a newspaper in a neighboring
city recently wrote to Miss Cushman, asking her, without
much ceremony, to give a gratuitous representation for
the benefit of the poor of that place, and requesting her
to answer by telegraph " yes " or " no." To this summons
Miss Cushman sent the following sensible and appropriate
reply : —
" Dear Sir : I am in receipt of yours of the Ist, in answer
to which I find myself under the necessity of saying * no ' to
your request that I would give one of the nights of my short
156 GHAELOTTE CUSHMAN:
engagement in Washington for the benefit of your local char-
ities. My reasons for this decision are as follows : —
''I think the time has come in which some one should
make a protest .against the system now so fully inaugurated
of making artists pay so much more than the rest of the
community for charities in which they are not especially in-
terested, and which have no claim upon them. You simply
ask of me that I should give from four hundred to five hundred
dollars to your poor, while those more immediately concerned,
those who are bound by all the ties of neighborhood and com-
mon brotherhood, think they are doing their part in paying
their quota of a dollar or two, when they receive in return
a full equivalent out of the labor, severe enough, of the often
hard-pressed and struggling artist Each one of these already
does to the best of his or her ability, within the range of the
claims which fall upon every human creature alike. You
may think it indelicate, but it is surely not irrelevant, for me
to say here, that I give every year to my poor and needy,
and to my poor's poor and needy, upward of $2,000, which
I consider a very fair percentage upon my income. As for
myself, it would take every day of every year if I were to
respond to one half the applications of this kind that meet
me at every turn ; and each one of us who are so freely called
upon in these ways I have no doubt have not only their
regular clientMe of claimants, to whom they are bound and
for whom they are accountable, but also hosts of such applica-
tions and claims for which they are in no way bound.
" It strikes me that the whole affair is one-sided, and that
a word is necessary in the way of justice. I am willing to
place myself in this breach, and say for all my confreres in
art, whose errors have never been on the side of niggardliness,
that it is unfair we should do all the work and pay also, both
publicly and privately, as we do to my certain knowledge.
" Allow me to suggest that, in place of this easy manner of
doing good, a house-to-house visitation for charitable objects
would place it in the power of every citizen to help the poor
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 157
of his own city and neighborhood with much greater comfort
to his conscience than this cent-per-cent contract of so much
money for so much amusement, and the poor thrown in.
'* Believe me to be> with much consideration,
" Respectfully yours,
« Chablottb Cushhan."
The following letter is inserted, as not only suggestively
valuable in itself, but as an explanation due to her mem-
ory. It was vmtten at her request, and is headed, " Auto-
graph Hunting."
'* For the Pablic Ledger, Philadelphia.
"Mr. Editor: Just before she left New York, Miss Gush-
man made an arrangement with the treasurer of the ' Shelter-
ing Arms' to supply her autograph for the benefit of that
institution, thinking natmrally enough that those persons who
wanted her name would not be unwilling to pay a trifling sum
for this gratification, at the same time doing good to a strug-
gling and ver^c deserving charity.
" This simple, and as it would appear not unworthy, action
on her part seems to have given occasion of ofience to certain
newspapers, and some very ill-natured comments upon it have
appeared, attributing to her base and mean motives, and oth*
erwise casting slurs upon an act of the purest benevolence.
You will confer a favor if you will find space in your columns
for this notice, thus giving publicity regarding what has
grown into a very great abuse, namely, * autograph hunting.'
Miss Cushman has been for years pursued by it to such an
extent that, at length, in self-defence, she has devised the
above plan, which she heartUy recommends to her professional
brethren, artists, and other eminent persons, who must all
have suffered with her the same annoyance.
''It may be said that simply writing one's name cannot
demand very great exertion, and it is a little thing to do to
give pleasure, etc. ; but when it amounts to, on an average^
158 CHABLOTTB CUfiHIIAir:
aboat forty or fifty demands of tbo kind per week, and often
more when she ia acting or reading in any of the huge citiea, —
it being a thing that no one can do for her, — it iano small tax;
and she felt at last that aha had done as much of it as she was
called upon to do, especially as the perpetual repetition of it
could not but deprive even her honored name of all value.
For the benefit of such persons as might choose to follow her
example in thi% I am requested to furnish tiie following par-
ticulars :*-
''The aociety of the 'Sheltering Arms* is authorissed to
dispose of her autograph for the sum of twenty-five cents,
which sum goes to the benefit of that institution. Upon re-
ceipt of a request for an autograph, endoeing the isaoney, it is
sent, and there an end. No, not there an end ; the end no one
knows ; but the promise that even a cup of cold water to one
of these little ones shall ineet with an exceeding great return,
ought to make aa autograph so obtained doubly and trebly
valuable.
"JuSTiCK."
>>^wav
CHAPTEB VIII.
H« hai ■ wiidoia QM, doth guide hii valor."
r the 4th of April of the year 1859 came the fint
ga of her sister'a illness ; the news alternat-
I ii^ for better or worse until the 24th, when a
telegram summoned her to England. After a bunied jour-
ney to Paris, unfavorable accounts met her, and she has-
tened to Liverpool to watch over and meet Uie sadness of
these last days. Mrs. Muspratt died on Uie 10th of May.
This was a heavy blow to her, whose &mily afiections
were so intense and clinging ; she suffered much from it,
and it was though well to seek chastgd and distraction
in constant movement On this occasion she explored
Wales, and visited all the finest points of tiiat picturesque
and lovely country, travelling by carriage, and movii^ or
resting as inclination prompted. Thus, slowly but surely,
healing and cousolation came throt^h the blessed in-
fluences of nature. She was never inclined to hold de-
spondency to her heart ; she suffered keenly and acutely,
but her nature opened simply and naturally, like a
flower, to the free air and sunshine. She could not but
take a living interest in life, in nature, in people ; she met
and sought always occasion to help others, and in this
giving out of herself she reaped always a larger harvest
than she had sown. The summer passed calmly and
160 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
sweetly away. After Wales came a visit to old and dear
friends at Brighton, and renewed intercourse with the
much-loved London circle, where she again saw Mrs. Car-
lyle, and they cemented a warm friendship. All this
helped to complete her cure, as far as such wounds ever
can be cured. On September 11 she left again for Rome,
travelling by way of Paris, Aix, Cologne and Bonn, and
arriving October 16.
The winter of 1859 - 60 passed as usual, but with less
of social excitement Among the " Roman Pilgrims " this
year were the Brownings and Theodore Parker ; the lat-
ter, too much of an invalid to enter into general society,
was ministered to by Miss Cushman in her wonted kindly
manner. There are some characteristic little notes of his
among her papers, one or two of which I may give, as
showing Juno she tried to make the Pilgrims forget for a
time they were strangers in a strange land.
<<Mt deab Miss Cushman: Many thanks for all your
favors, — the drive the other day, the old-fashioned chicken-
pie this day. Alas I I have no ooach, no oven ; but as you
have often taken a kindly interest in me, I think you may like
to read some of my latest publications, so I send a couple of
little things which came by mail, and are the only copies in
^' " Beheve me faithfully yours,
" Thbodorb Parker.
" P. a I have finished ' Plutarch.' "
Another note says : —
"I thank you heartily for the great loaf of Indian-corn
bread. It is like the song of Zion sung in a strange land
and among the willows. It carries me back to dear old Bos-
ton once more. We shall eat this our bread with thankfulness
of heart, not forgetting the human giver.
"Yours for the bread, «t p
" P. S. I suppose I am as well as co%dd he expected.'*
'*
HARLOTTE CLISHM.
) '• •
, *•
t (
(
I
I
1
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 161
Miss Cushman sat to me in the course of this winter
for her bust, at the request of her early friend, Mr. R D.
Shepherd, the same who is mentioned in her memoranda
as having given her two years of good musical training,
and thus laid the foundation, as she believed, of all her
after success. During her last visit to New Orleans in
1858 Mr. Shepherd sought her out It was pleasant for
both to meet under such changed conditions; the one
to find the fruition of Ins good deed, the other to feel
the satisfaction of her nobly won position and pros-
pects. Mr. Shepherd on that occasion asked her to have
her bust modelled for him, and left the choice of an art-
ist to herself She determined that I should do it, and
a good portion of the winter was devoted to this work,
which, thanks to her good-will and sympathetic encour-
agement, became a successful one. The original, after the
death of Mr. Shepherd, was presented by his daughter,
Mrs. Grorham Brooks, to the Handel and Haydn Society
of Boston. Several copies were made : one is in the pos-
session of Mr. H. G. Stebbins of New York; another
belongs to Mr. F. Sully Darley of Philadelphia ; and a
thiitl to Mr. James Muspratt of Seaforth Hall, Liver-
pool
On June 9 of this year Miss Cushman again sailed
for New York, in the steamship Persia, passing the sum-
mer amona her friends, and devoting the winter to her
profession. On March 21st she acted for the benefit of
the Dramatic Fund at the Academy of Music. The play
was "Macbeth," with Mr. Edwin Booth as Macbeth.
This was a veiy successful performance, the receipts
amounting to S 3,100, being $1,000 in excess of the
amount received from any previous benefita
On the 24th of March Miss Cushman went to St Louis
to attend the marriage of her nephew and adopted son.
162 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN :
Mr. Edwin C. Cushman, to Miss Crow, daughter of Way-
man Crow, of St. Louis. From April 8th she acted a round
of engagements in all the chief cities, and on July 1st paid
a visit to Mr. Seward in Washington, on which occasion
she visited with him the entrenchments on Arlington
Heights, and the various camps then in process of forma-
tion about the city. Her thoughts and feelings on the
subject of the civil strife which was then beginning to
convulse the country will be found in her letters of this
period. It pained her deeply that circumstances forced
her to absent herself from home at a time so full of deep
and absorbing interest But good influences and ardent
souls were as much, if not more, needed on the other side
than here at that time, and she fulfilled her mission in
that respect as thoroughly and well as in any other.
During those grievous years, when the fate of the country
seemed to be hanging in such an uneven balance, who can
tell how much her courage, her hope, and her bright and
persistent cheerfulness may not have aided in i*estoring its
equilibrium ? They called her the sunbeam in Rome in
those days of gloom and despondency ; and many after-
wards confessed to having walked the streets in the hope
of encountering her and getting a passing word of comfort
and cheer. Few could understand or feel what those
depths were in which the expatriated ones lived during
those days of anxious suspense and doubt. It almost
seemed as if they suffered more than those who bore the
burden and heat of the day. They had at least the excite-
ment of efibrt to sustain them ; but these were called upon
to face gloomy forebodings, uncertain tidings, exaggerated
reports, and popular prejudices so strong that even good
tidings could scarce make their way against them, and
always came, so long as the result was at all doubtful, in
a garbled and adulterated shapa To hope was difficult,
HER UFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 163
to administer hope to others more difficult still ; but this
was precisely her forte and her mission in life, and she
fulfilled it to these deep needs in her own beneficent way,
not only in Eome, but in England, never failing to lighten
the darkest hours and the heaviest despondency with some
gleams of the brightness she found in her own sanguine
nature.
On the 17th of July, 1861, she returned to England.
The following letter of August 8 expresses her feeling on
the all-absorbing topic of the time : — ;
*' The news brought by the last steamer has made me so
sad and so heartsick, that I hardly know how to talk or write
about it, further than this, that I believe in God's goodness,
and that even this must work together for good. The recruit-
ing will go on better. The civilian officers will have got a
little whipping, and the South a flush in this success which
will make them a little less careful next time. Meanwhile,
England and France are not going to do anything about the
blockade, and are getting so much cotton from other quarters
which they did not expect, that in less than two years they
will do without American cotton ; and thus slavery and cotton
will be dethroned in that hemisphere. This I learn firom a
very large cotton interest here, who are prchslavery. Again,
so much rain has fiUlen, that even now they are prognosticat-
ing short crops. Depend upon it, there wiU be no interference
with America on the part of England or France. Though the
war interferes with our merchants to-day, it will be better for
us in the end, for the country has got to learn to depend on
herself and develop her own resources. But I am sorry not
to be at home to see the matter through. God help the weak
and prosper the right, and send the wrong-doer the punish-
ment he deserves. I do think the South comes rightfully by
this success on the principle that the Devil helps his own at
first. Let those laugh who win. It was natural that all this
playing at soldiers should result in a shameful defeat; but
we shall see what will be the end."
164 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
This was the first battle of Bull Run of which she
writes, and the allusion " playing at soldiers " bears refer-
ence to the impression made upon her by her visit to the
camps around Washington, and to the evidence they af-
forded, even to her inexperienced eyes, of crudeness and
mismanagement.
During this summer she made various excursions, visit-
ing Buxton, Knowsley, Haddon Hall, Chatsworth, Mat-
lock, Dovedale, stopping at Izaak Walton's Inn, and finally
settling down for a time at the Isle of Wight, from which
'place we have one or two interesting letters. Referring
to a visit she had just made to London, where, as she says,
she found " the purest spiritual pleasure," she gives her
impressions of the Isle of Wight : —
" Here/' she says, " is the sweetest air material that human
being ever found. 0, a week of rare delight I In my whole
English life I have never felt seven such days of golden glory
as we passed there. We were at a gentleman farmer's in the
heart of the island, fiir away from everything and everybody
but ourselves. The weather was divine, — not warm, not cold,
but such as enabled us to wander in the copses in our morning
jackets, or sit under the huge old pear-tree on the lawn, in
front of the dear little seven-gabled house, reading, or up in
an upper room (fitted up as a writing-room) doing up my cor-
respondence, with the sweet sounds of birds, and sweet smell
of wild clematis which wanders up in streaming whiteness over
the gabled windowa 0, it was a rare week I I only wanted
you to see how well I was ; how good and clear and true the
country makes me, when I can throw aside the carking cares
which almost invariably surround me in a city anywhere."
Another letter from this chosen locality is full of pith
and matter. The " clearness and truth " which she feels
in the midst of nature possesses her spirit and moves her
pen. She writes words of real wisdom.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 165
" I only wish there were less excitement for you ; yon lack
repose, and never will be strong until you are shut up in
' some boundless contiguity of shade,'' where you will see no
soul but your own, and sit communing with it, &ce to face,
in unlimited silence. When you bogin to study yourself
then will you begin to have repose. When you shall find
that calm interiorly, you will be happier and less troubled
that you cannot Mong together hold to any fixed principle of
action.* You know so well what is rights that I do not fear
these backslidings. Every human being (more or less) must
have such ; the more generous the nature the more likely to
have them; but to know them and to tryto cure them, to see
the flutterings of the conscience and tiy to help it, — these are
the footholds by which (though you fidl back many and many
a weary time) you shall mount to the excellence your heart
covets. There are few entirely perfect characters, few souls so
white as to bear full sunshine. The wish to be better, the
strong desire to live higher, purer lives, the determination to
be worthy in spite of lets and hindrances, the small conquest
over self to-day, shall lead to the larger to-morrow, until we get
nearer to our true mosaic of life, — the one spot which we have
been destined to fill worthily, highly, perfectly, without flaw,
if we would follow the Creator^s law for us. We cannot commit
a wrong without its punishment following closely at the heels ;
we cannot break a law of eternal justice, however ignorantly,
but throughout the entire universe will there be a jar of dis-
cord which will so trouble the divine harmonies that in the
rebound we shall find each man his own hell I The sooner we
arrive at this knowledge, the sooner we take the certainty to
our souls, the sooner do our lives begin to assume the square
allotted to us. To try to be better is to be better; and the
consciousness that we are ' backsliding,' if our souls are true,
good, worthy souls, will help us to hold the faster the next time
to that which is really true and good. God knows how hard
/ have striven in my time to be good and true and worthy. God
knows the struggles I have had. God knows how unworthUy I
166 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
haye kept the promiBes I have made to myself and to him.
He alone knows the worth. He knows the trialeL He is the
judge, and he still loves me ! I see and know his love by
the blessings which surround me : my needs^ my requirements,
are met ; my struggles with ciroumstances have been many
and sore ; my life has known its weak places, but I strove to
come out of them ; I have come out of them. K I am a
coward, I am compelled to find my safety in fli^t sometimes ;
but I shall be less a coward day by day as I bring myself face
to face with my soul, and Qod will help me to see better as I
' leam to labor and to waU,* Ah, what profound wisdom is
m that little sentence ! To labor is to love God, and lead ever
higher lives. To labor is easy compared to tsaiUng. How
bard it is to wait I 'Patience is all the passion of great
hearts.'"
The above letters bear date August 30 and September
7. On the 12th, Miss Cushman left London for Paris, en
route to Eome ; on the 21st I find a graphic description
of a visit to Bosa Bonheur's studio, which had been ar-
ranged for her by a mutual Mend in London : —
'^ Did I tell you that I was to go to Rosa Bonheur^s on the
Saturday, or had I been the day I wrote) K not, you will
want to know about her. On Friday I received a letter fix>m
London, telling me that Mademoiselle Rosa would be ready to
receive me the next day, if I would take the earliest train to
Fontainebleau. C!onsequently at 10.40 behold me starting fix)m
the hotel on my way to the ehemin defer: an hour fix>m the
hotel to the station, an hour and a half on the rail, and we
arrived at Thomeiy, where we found Mademoiselle Rosa's own
little sociable (head off) waiting for us, and we were driven by
a country-boy, like mad, through a beautiful portion of the
forest ; arriving at a fine old country-house, or ch&teau, which
she has bought, and added a very fine building and tower to it,
in which there is the most delightful studio you ever saw in
your life. She designed it alL Under it she has the stables
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 167
of her animalSy — ponies, cows, sheep, horses, ozen, Scotch
cattle, m fact everything she can ever want. On arriving
we mounted the stairs to the studio, and she received us at
the top of them, dressed in a piqu4 dress of white cross-barred
with lavender. The dress, I am sure, was a knickerbocker suit
of this stufi^ over which she had evidently put a skirt (very
short) of the same for propriety's sake, for she did not seem
to be over-comfortable in it She received us more graciously
than I can describe to you. The face is kvdy^ refined, not
Frenchy and full of intense feeling; bright, dear, truthful
eyes, an exquisitely cut nose, thin but mobile lips, beautiful
teeth, little hands, but with a true grip ; altogether the most
charming great woman I ever saw. She and Mademoiselle
Micas, her friend, entertained us most agreeably; we saw
pictures, sketches, drawings, proofs, everything. Her manner
of showing one of the sketches was characteristic. It was her
latest production, and drawn on several pieces of paper. It
represented a flock of sheep huddled together in the moon-
light, with firelight shining from door and window of the
shepherd's hut She coolly placed the different sections of
this study on the floor, stepping over and around them while
arranging them to her satisfisu^on with her foot Then she in-
vited us to lunch, and there was brought up in the most simple
style possible a dish of fruit, with wine, which was placed upon
a tall studio stool; around it we sat and munched grapes (her
own grapes) and pears, and talked art, philosophy, and mutual
admiration for an hour. When we rose to depart she begged
us to stay to dinner ; but we wisely saw that we had made a
good impression, and came away. She drove us to the station
in a sort of cabriolet, with seats running along the sides, and
drawn by one of those wonderful horses which she paints so
weU, solid and massive, with a deep groove all down his back.
On the way she b^ged us to have our photographs taken by
her own particular man /or her, gave us roses, — 0, such roses I
— and graciously waited outside the enclosure until our train
started. The last glimpse we had of her she was holding her
168 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
hat aloft in salutation^ like a gallant little man. The studio
she has built is perfectly splendid : oak panelling all over, oak
floor, beautiful carved furniture, a fireplace large enough for
six people to sit inside, the sides of it supported by two enor-
mous bloodhounds modelled by herself and cut in cacu-stone.
The floor is covered everywhere with skins of wild animals.
0, what a weak and poor description of a roost charming
day ! '»
These flying visits to Paris, each spring and autumn, on
her vi^ay to and from Eome, gave Miss Cushman a vi^el-
come opportunity of seeing whatever of new and interest-
ing the theatres presented. Her enjoyment of the French
stage was intense and appreciative, and she rarely passed
through Paris without finding at some one of the numer*
ous theatres a veritable sensation. They were never
wanting in novelty ; her love of her profession made her
catholic in her taste and judgment ; she went everywhere
and enjoyed alL At the Th^&tre Franqaise was always to
be found the classical and legitimate drama. Miss Cush-
man enjoyed the subtleties and even the mannerisms of
this famous stage ; with her usual zest, she relished its
finish and its thoroughness, for thoroughness was one of
her own special attributes; but she thought, as she re-
turned to it, year after year, that the finish was becoming
conventional and the thoroughness affected ; the natural-
ness was so labored as to reach the opposite extreme ; the
simplicity so simple as to approach absurdity; every
movement, every situation, so studied, the artificiality so
marked and apparent, that at first it was like coming into
another atmosphere and breathing a different air. After
a while this peculiar impression wore off; one became ac-
customed to the condensed air, and it was evident that on
those who lived vrith it and in it, night after night, it pro-
duced no such effect ; but to eyes and senses accustomed
H£B LIFE, LETTERS, ANP MEMORIES. 169
to the natural and spontaneous acting of the Italian school
it was very striking, and far from true or reaL
At the minor theatres — less hampered by prestige and
precedent, less classical, but more true to nature and £etct
— she found infinite satisfaction. There the inborn French
necessity for completeness and vraiserriblance found its ex-
pression less in subtleties of manner than in exactness of
mise-en-sctee, in perfection of dress, scenery, and accesso-
ries, making of the historical dramas produced at these
theatres a succession of the most wonderful and faithful
picturea
Among many such attractive entertainments my mem-
ory recalls one in especial I think it was at the Th^tre
Porte St. Martin, or it might be the Gymnase. We saw
a petite drame, of three acts, called Zes heattx Messieurs
du Bois Bori, adapted from the novel of that name by
Madame Geoige Sand herself, and acted in by two of the
greatest favorites of the time, namely, Bocage and Jane
Ellsler. It was a consummate little jewel, exquisitely put
upon the stage, exquisitely acted, and complete, with an
artistic perfection without flaw. This little reminiscence
may fitly introduce here a letter in which she speaks of
George Sand and of her feeling towards her.
" I like you to find in Geoige Sand principUs. She is, in
truth, the most wonderful preacher, and if she had been an
American or an Englishwoman with that intellect, her posi-
tion would have been up to her principles. But I do not feel
that we hare any right to judge the life of a foreigner by our
own fixed laws of society. My one sole reason for not know-
ing or seeking to know her has been my reverence. I cannot
speak French ; I cannot make myself sufficiently understood
to intrude upon the life and time of a great woman like Ma-
dame Dudevant, and I do not find they understand or appre-
ciate the admiration of foreigners. This used to be my feel-
170 CHAELOTIE CUSHMAN:
ing eren with Mn. Browning. I nerer felt that I oould bring
anything worthy to exchange with her, and I became con-
scious, which spoiled my ability and her appreciation of me.
Unless I can utterly forget myself, I am as nothmg ; and this
is why you care for me, why my own friends love me and
judge me kindly ; because, when I can talk freely upon the
subjects which interest and occupy me, without a thought of
myself or the impression I am making, all is well enough, and
my life, my character through my life, makes itself felt. To
George Sand I should bring nothing but my reverence and
my admiration. She would produce in me the same feeling
and the same silence she did in Mrs. Browning. Therefore I
have hesitated to know her. But one of these days we will
go together to see her and thank her for all that she has been
to both of us ; for to me she revealed my religion, and she has
ever been able to produce nothing but good in me.^
Among the letters of this period I find many expres-
sions of Miss Cushman's passionate love for children,
without some allusion to which this memoir would be
very incomplete. It was one of the most marked traits
in her character. She was in sympathy with children,
and could be a child with them. They loved her and
gave her their confidence, and she was never so occupied
that she could not give time and strength to them. Her
nephew's children were to her like her own. She called
herself their " big mamma," and she would travel any dis-
tance to be present at their birth, even on one occasion
crossing the ocean for that purpose. It was her great joy
to be the first to receive them in her arms, and she had a
feeling that this ceremony made them more her own.
Her first visitors in the morning were always the little
children, and she had smiles and songs and merry games
for them, even when at times her sufferings confined her
to her bed. No amount of trouble was too great to give
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 171
them pleasure ; their birthdays were all carefully remem-
bered, and marked with gifts and tokens of never-failing
kindness. Her own birthday fite was an occasion of
great ceremony, and always made much of for the sake
of the children ; and the little people would be very busy,
long beforehand, preparing their tokens of love for dear
" big maroma." Always something done with their own
hands gave her most pleasure, and, whatever it was, would
be received with acclamationa This was one of her many
special charms, — the hearty and kindly reception of what-
ever was done to give her pleasure. The motive and
meaning was everything, the mere value nothing; and
it is most interesting to find, among the gatherings of her
busy life, these simple tokens, carefully cherished, of the
friendships, afiTections, and devoted appreciations which
blessed and glorified her life.
That her thoughts were also full of deep solicitude for
the future welfare and proper training of these children,
her letters bear ample evidenca The maternal and pro-
tecting element which was so laige in her " found ample
loom and verge enough," in her loving care for these chil-
dren, and not only for them, but wherever she could ex-
tend her beneficent and helping hand. There was a sense
of protection in her atmosphere which all felt, hardly
knowing why they felt it ; but drawing them to it, with
the sure instinct of trust What marvel, then, that the
little children clung to her and loved her! To these
children she has left an inheritance which cannot be
taken away from them. The means which it was her
pleasure to gather together for them may take wings and
vanish away ; but the good name, the honorable record,
no one can take fix)m them, and they have in it a high
shining beacon to light their steps upward and onward
in the path she so earnestly desired they might tread.
172 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
How much she thought of the sacredness of the mater-
nal trust is expressed with all her own fervor in the fol-
lowing letter : —
" All that you say about your finding your own best expres-
sion in and through the little life which is confided to you is
good and true, and I am so happy to see how you feel on the
subject I think a mother who derotes herself to her child, in
watching its culture and keeping it from baleful influences, is
educating and cultivating herself at the same time. No artitt
work is so high, so noble, so grand, so enduring, so important
for all time, as the making of character in a child. You have
your own work to do, the largest possible expression. No
statue, no painting, no acting, can reach it, and it embodies
each and all the arts. Clay of €rod*s fashioning is given into
yoiu* hands to mould to perfectness. Is this not something
grand to think off No matter about yourself, — only make
yourself worthy of God's sacred trusty and you will be doing
his work, — and that is all that human beings ought to care to
live for. Am I right T'
She left Borne on June 4th of this year, much later
than usual, but finding no great oppression or discomfort
from the heat Much misapprehension with regard to the
Boman climate exists in the minds of many. Long ex-
perience justifies the assertion that no city in the world
is more generally healthy than Boma Serious cases of
illness among visitors are rare, and these can generally be
easily traced to imprudence and thoughtlessness under new
conditiona Strangers visiting Borne in ignorance or care-
lessness of sanitary laws do things which they would never
have dreamed of doing at home : keep irregular hours, neg-
lect their food, exhaust themselves with sight-seeing, pass
from cold atmospheres to hot, and vice versa, without pre-
caution, remain out late in the night-air, and then are
surprised at the consequences which naturally ensue.
H£B UFEj LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 173
Italians are particiilarly careful in these respects. They
avoid even passing from the sunny to the shaded side of the
street, and they warn all strangers to beware of the chill
which comes over the air as the sun sinks below the
horizon. This chill lasts only for a time ; after an hour
or so the temperature becomes equalized again, and the
danger ceasea But in these lovely nights of Italy — the
sun sinking in a blaze of glory, the mountains and plain
opal tinted in rose and pale azure, the moon rising glori-
ously and flooding all things with a light only known in
Italy — it is difficult to convince any one that danger may
lurk under all this beauty. But, taking the average, very
little real harm comes of it. Thirteen years' experience
surely justifies some confidence. During all these winters,
in a large family of children, servants, and constant visit-
ors, no case of serious illness ever occurred. The usual
ailments incident to humanity in all places visited us,
and Miss Cushman's health was gradually working out
the hereditary problem of transmitted evil ; but there was
no appearance of any ailment peculiar to the soil : on the
contrary, uncommon freedom from aU forms of ailment
Cases of fever did occur among our friends and acquaint-
ances ; but whatever was of purely Boman origin took no
worse form than that so well known among ourselves as
chills and fever, — disagreeable enough, no doubt, but not
dangerous. Where the type ran into typhoid, or assumed
the malignant character called pemizziosa, it could always
be traced back to Naples, where it belongs, and where
there are elements admitted to be of a nature cai)able
of developing any nudarial tendency. People going ex-
hausted from Home to Naples, and living there the same
life of amrest and excitement, were predisposed to imbibe
any floating mischief; and, returning to Eome with the
seeds planted and ready to burst forth, Bome took all the
credit of the result
174 CHABLOTTE CUSHKAN :
Persons may go to Borne and live as well and as safely
as elsewhere, at almost any season, with proper care and
prudence. Even the summer heat is not as unendurable
as with us, because it is more steady and continuou&
Many families who cannot leave Bome in summer remain
year after year with entire impunity. Some artists remain
from choice, and say they enjoy immensely the calm, the
rest, the opportunity for steady work, which they can
never get in the gay Roman winter. The early autumn,
when the regular rainy season sets in, is perhaps the least
healthy period of the year; but is not that the same
everywhere ? Decaying vegetation saturated with moist-
ure is a factor for harm in most places.
The real harm which lies in the Boman climate is of a
different sort A long residence in Bome is apt to tell
upon the nerves : the blood grows thin, the general tone
is lowered and this is the meaning of the phrase dolcefar
niente. The climate produces the necessity for this " sweet
idleness," and those who will not yield to it, like our
country-people, who cany their own nervous, restless
energies with them wherever they go, are forced at last
to submit to the genus loci by impaired nerves and ex-
hausted vitality.
These few words may be of use to many who, in con-
templating a visit to Bome, are beset with fears and
doubts on these subjects. Let them be set at rest. Bome
is probably the best-drained, the best-watered city in the
civilized world, and since the Italian occupation is rapidly
becoming equally well built and comfortable.
Miss Cushman speaks of Bome and the Boman climate
in this wise : —
" The worst feature of living in Bome is the being forced
to go away for the summer; and next, or perhaps first, is the
constant strain upon the nerves, through the social changes
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 175
of each year. There is no resident English or American
society here, and every season brings fresh people to learn to
know, and takes away those whom you have learned to know
and to like ; and thus every year is a breaking of fresh ground.
When one lives in Boston, or St. Louis, or London, you have
a sort of social foundation to which you belong, and upon
which you every year build, either some fiintastic summer-
house of a pretty, gay, enthusiastic foreigner, or a good solid
family room of an old English country gentleman and lady,
whom you meet at some friend's house, and who thereby come
indorsed to you with substantial security. Here you are
without a foundation, but your own house and home and
its inmates, and every year you are a prey to the adventurer
who comes to speculate, the needy annuitant who comes to
live cheap, or the ambitious parents who come to marry their
daughters ; the callow parson, who comes to find a wife with
a little money ; the small, very small heiress, who comes to
fish for a husband ; the ignorant and rich American jobber,
who comes to play the patron to art, and buy bad copies and
still worse originals ; and the vulgar and pretentious wives and
daughters of such, who fiJl victims to hungry Italians in
search of dances, suppers, and champagne. And such is this
Roman mosaic, which is made up winter after winter in the
same design, only difiering each year in the value of the ma-
terial out of which it is made. But this is giving you only
the dark side ; it has its bright one, and I would rather live in
Home than anywhere else in the world for the winter months,
although I contend that the atmosphere is nervous and ener-
vating, and that constitutions living here, and indulging in
all the social enjoyments, are sooner sapped than elsewhere.
Still, the sunshine is so bright, the cold weather lasts such a
short time, the skies are so clear, the spring so early, the
ability to go out every day in the winter at some hour in an
open carriage so pleasant ; the rides are so enticing, the
country so beautiful to ride over, the hills so lovely to look
upon under almost every change and shade of weather, the
176 CHAKLOTTE CUSHMAN :
Mrs. Gnmdies so scarce, the artist society (of the best) so nice,
that it is hard to choose or find any other place so attractive."
I extract from a letter of March 16, 1862, Miss Gush-
man's expressions of feeling in reference to the Northern
successes, the news of which were now coining over the
ocean.
'' I can hardly describe to you the effect upon us of the
political news. It only shows us how our nerves have been
strained to the utmost, how faith has been tested to the
verge of infidelity 1 It has been so hard amid the apparent
successes on the other side, the defection, the weakness of
men on our side, the willingness of even the best to take
advantage of the needs of the government, the ridicule of
sympathizers with the South on this side, the abuse of the
£nglish journals, and the utter impossibility of beating into
the heads of individual English that there could be no rigkt
in the seceding party, — all has been so hard, and we have
fought so valiantly for our faith, have so tired and tried our-
selves in talking and showing our belief, that when the news
came day after day of our successes, and at last your letter,
I could not read the account aloud, and tears, — hot but re-
freshing tears of joy fell copiously upon the page. O, I am
too thankful ; and I am too anxious to come home ! Never in
my life have I felt any bondage so hard as this which would
make it wrong for me to go to America this summer ; my
soul aches to get to the States, to see all those who have
worked out this noble, grand end ! For, as I saw the end
through the clouds (for which, by the by, I was ridiculed by
some, who wittily remarked that I might see farther than
most people, living nearer where the sun rose, or words to that
effect), so must I be able to see it clearer now. But I have
faith that all things which are done upon earnest conviction are
and wiU he for the best, and so my coming abroad was right ;
but I cannot help my yearnings, and I do so long to come to
America this summer. I never cared half so much for America
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 177
before ; but I feel that now I love it dearly, and want to see
it and to live in it."
On her journey to Borne in the autumn of this year
Miss Cushmau stopped for a day at Spezzia, and was
entertained by Mrs. Somerville, who was living there
then. Of this visit she speaks in one of her letters.
'' We passed the day at Spezzia, and in the evening went to
take tea with that most learned astronomer and kindest,
most genial of ladies, Mrs. Somerville, who now, at the age of
eighty-two, is writing a book upon the 'forces.' I saw her
write her name under a carte de vmte with the greatest calm
and precision, in a hand without tremor, like copperplate.
Mary Somerville is one of the wonders of our age, and I am
most glad to have seen her."
In an earlier part of this memoir some allusion has been
made to Miss Oushman's opinions on religious subjects, to
her large tolerance, her unaffected piety, and her respect
for all sincere conviction under whatever form or creed
she found it Among her letters of 1862, I find one
which gives her own views on the subject in her own
* words. It is written from Eoma
« To-morrow will be the last day of the year ! I am glad
when a winter is over, though sad to think I am so much nearer
to the end. The days fly by so rapidly ; the Saturdays when
I must post come round so soon ! I stand sometimes appalled
at the thought of how my life is flying away, and how soon will
come the end to all of this probation, and of how little I have
done or am doing to deserve all the blessings by which I am
surrounded. But that God is perfect, and that my love for
him is without fear, I should be troubled in the thought that
I am not doing all I should, in this sphere, to make myself
worthy of happiness in the next. Do you quite believe in
angels with feather wings and flowing draperies, and perfect
178 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
beauty, and a heaven in the clouds? — or do you believe that
man, a little lower than the angels, animated by the 'heat
spark,' wears out his physical in the improvement of his
moral, and that this ' heat spark ' then returns to the origi-
nal centre of all, to be again given out, through its own puri-
fication, helping thus to leaven the whole mass, and so doing
God's work 1 — or what do you believe 1 You say you * feel
the need of a saviour ' 1 Do you think Christ more your sav-
iour, except that he has been the founder of a creed, which
has been a sign and symbol for so many who needed a sign and
symbol 1 Do you believe that God was more the father of
Christ than he is of you ? Do you need any mediator between
you and your Father 1 Can the Saviour Christ help you more
than the Saviour Conscience ? I don't believe in Atheism ; so
you see one may doubt even disbelief; but I should be glad
to know what your creed is, if you put it into any form.
Creeds invented by man may and do find echoes, as we find
around us those who can give us better counsel than we can
find for ourselves in ordinaiy matters ; how much more, then,
in those which are purely spiritual But cruds are creeds^
after all ; and whether propounded by Jesus, or any other of
womum bom, they are simply scaffoldings which surround the
temple, and by which different thinkers mount to their dis-
tinct and separate entrances. I find it possible to go to any
church and find Grod! A good and earnest man, though a
sdf-elected priest, who leads a pure and noble life, who works
for the good of others rather than his own gratification, who
leads me to think higher and better things, is my saviour;
all great, good, noble, high aspirations save me. Vainglory
in myself or my doings, self-assertion, pride, are often but
the effects of education ; and though they may be and are the
clogs of flesh around me, they cannot prevent me from seeing
God any and every where, and they cannot prevent me from
being mved^ if I will I O, this question is so difficult, so hard ;
and yet, if we can prove by our lives that we love God in our
neighbor, it is so easy I We are asked by all believers to love
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 179
God, and this is alL If we love, we cannot wound ! God is
perfect ; we cannot hurt him as we do one another, for he sees
in, and around, and through, and the motive is the hurt I
helieve that some of the purest lives are among those whom
we call Deists, — who believe in God, but not in revealed re-
ligion. No one can doubt a cause^ and there must have been
ti first causey and whether we call it €rod, or nature, or law of the
universe, it amounts to the same thing ; and, trust me, every
human being believes in a God. For me, I believe in all things
good coming from God, in all forms, in all ways ; my faith is
firm in him and his love. I believe in instincts marvellously.
I doubt any power to take from me the love of God, and I
would guard particularly against the evil effects of injudicious
or careless education for myself or others. Original sin is the
excess, or weakness, or folly, of parents, which entails upon us
evils which we have to combat, and struggle harder in conse-
quence of; hence the necessity of each human being striving
to lead a pure life, a life of unselfishness, a life of devotion
to — well — domg everything a human being can do for the
largest good of alL
'' A devotion which drives one to a nunnery, to a life of
selfHseclusion, of prayer actual, and nothing else, does not seem
to me devotion such as God needs and wants ; and yet it may
be that this example is also necessary in God's world, and each
man or woman may be doing his work 1 But I must not write
on such topica I am not sufficiently clear in my expression
to help anybody, and I only intended at first to reply to the
last sentence of your letter, in which you spoke of ' your need
of a Saviour,' and of your going to such or such a church.
Well, it matters very little. All thinking human beings
(women especially) have to pass through all these thinkings.
The only thing to be guarded against is the narrowing influ-
ence of Mrs. Grundy. Think in, but be sure also to think o^.
Many young people are apt to jump into one of these enclos-
ures, and then, for fear, are afraid to jump or crawl out, — not
from fear of God, but fear of the humans around them ! Don't
suffer yourself to be narrowed in your thinkings. If you do.
180 CHABLOTTE CX7SHMAN :
it is because of some part of your mind not having been
healthily ezeroised, and thus the restraint day by day will
cramp you more. I don't like too much this pride of intel-
lect, any more than I do the idea of any and eyery man being
able to be a priest simply because he chooses that as his voca-
tion. There are many priests who never see churches, as
there are many devils within the fold ! Did yon ever read
very thinkingly '* Spiridion " (Greoige Sand)) She was in
this coil when she wrote it, and, being greatly imaginative, of
course the book is very wide of the mark for many ; but it is
possible to get something from it in spite of its mysticism.
I go to the English Church here, because I think it right to
go somewhere, and I cannot understand Italian well enough
to follow their preaching, though the earnestness and intensity
and eloquence of the priests often stirs me to my soul, in spite
of the trammels of language. Therefore I go to the English
Church, and I observe their observances, because I think it is
unkind, by any resistance on my part when I am among them,
to raise doubts or questions or remarks when it is unnecessary
and productive of no good result. But their scafifolding is no
more for me, and does not influence me any more, than that
of the Catholic or the Presbyterian. God saw the creatures
he created ; he knew their capabilities ; he will judge us each
by our light. The child shut away from light is not answer-
able for its blindness. Education is the influences around our
childhood, not merely books and school, but example, and we
are only responsible according to Qur light. But we must not
wilfully shut our eyes when we can be led into the light, which
is to be tempered to our abilities ; only don't condemn others
because they do not see as we do, and we are not able to see
with their eyes. Every human being who goes to sleep awakes
believing in God, whatever he may call it. There are more
good Deists in the world than show themselves, and there is
more pride than one wishes to see ; but education is to blame,
not instinct, and so we have to go so fiEu* back to find the origi-
nal plague-spot, that one is apt to sit down by the wayside in
terror at the journey I "
CHAPTEB IX.
" Tb« h«wt tud hind both opoQ iDd both fne,
For what he hu he giTu, what thinka ha (howt."
TtvUiu eu^tt Orttiida.
" He hath a tear for pity.
And a hand, open m day, tor meltliig charity."
lave't L^ar Iiott.
o&e of the letters of this period (1861) we find
the following reference to her cardinal point of
faith, namely, that real needs are sooner or later'
met: —
" What you say of ' nttdi being mtt ' its curiouB. Froni mj
very earliest days of reasoning, which b^an with me when I
b^an to suffer, I haTO felt that thought grow and expand in
my Boul until it is the foundation of my oreed, my religion.
Upon that my Etith, which nothing oould shake, is built. If
I have not at some time or other said this to you (and I feet
sure I have), and it has entered your mind and taken root
without your having noted the day and the hour, ao that it
seems to you a natural growth, and so is more valuable to you
(aa all beet things come from within), 1 wonder much, for it
seems to have been the one natural thing I should say to you
to justify my actions. On the 8th of Februaiy I wrote a long
letter to Mrs. Carlyle, which had this for its text ; < There
never yet oame a real need to a nation or an individual which
was not in due time met.' This was afovpos to something
flattering she had sud about ' my rnminff to her at the right
182 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
moimeni? And it would almost seem that the thought uttered
then by me had reached and passed her, and gone on to you
for you to send it back to me. 'Bread upon the waters,'
with ' Eucharistic meanings.' Believe me, it is the truest phi-
losophy and faith to live by. It does not prevent us working
for ourselves to the attainment of our needs, because we can-
not know what we can do with or without until we have tried.
This ' instinct striving because its nature is to strive ' is our
surety of the presence of God in our souls, ever drawing
towards its centre. Himself, in the completion of its r61e, — if I
may use such a term, — and only the weak and poor sink down
by the way. The brave and rich nature strives for the accom-
plishment of what it deems its needs, and thus breaks down
barriers for the light of faith to enter. This faith, being ' all
that we truly need^ we shall ha.vt^ All that is worth having
must be striven for ; in the strife we often find joys by the
wayside undreamed of, which sometimes put away the fancied
need, and one blesses God for the better wisdom and goodness,
and gains a sublimer faith. Are you able to understand me,
or am I writing in a wild way which you cannot follow 1 One
of these days we will compare notes as to the springing and
growth of this idea in our souls. But, believe me, it is a good
faith to live and die by, if needs must be to die."
One more extract closes the correspondence of this
year ; it has reference to her deep disappointment in the
loss of her nephew's first child, and goes back into the
troubles and griefs of her own early lifa
" There was a time," she writes, " in my life of girlhood,
when I thought I had been called upon to bear the very
hardest thing that can come to a woman. A very short time
served to show me, in the harder battle of life which was
before me, that this had been but a spring storm, which was
simply to help me to a clearer, better, richer, and more pro-
ductive summer. If I had been spared this early trial, I
should never have been so earnest and faithful in my art;
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 183
I should have still been casting about for the ' counterpart,'
and not given my entire %df to mj work, wherein and alone
I have reached any excellence I have ever attained, and through
which alone I have received my reward. God helped me in
my art isolation, and rewarded me for recognizing him and
helping myself. This passed on; and this happened at a period
in my life when most women (or children, rather) are looking
to but one end in life, — an end no doubt wisest and best
for the largest number, but which would not have been wisest
and best for my work, and so for God's work ; for I know he
does not fail to m^ me his work to do, and helps me to do it,
and helps others to help mt, (Do you see this tracing back,
and then forward, to an eternity of good, and do you see how
better and better one can become in recognizing one's self as a
minister of the Almighty to foithfully cairy out our part of
his great plan according to our strength and ability?) 0,
believe we cannot live one moment for ourselves, one moment
of selfish repining, and not be failing him at that moment,
hiding the God-spark in us, letting the flesh conquer the
spirit, the evil dominate the good.
Then after this first spring storm and hurricane of young
disappointment came a lull, diuing which I actively pursued
what became a passion, — my art. Then I lost my younger
brother, upon whom I had begun to build most hopefully, as
I had reason. He was by far the cleverest of my mother^s
children. He had been bom into greater poverty than the
others; he received his young impressions through a difier-
ent atmosphere ; he was keener, more artistic, more impulsive,
more generous, more full of genius. I lost him by a cruel
accident, and again the world seemed to Uquefy beneath my
feet, and the waters went over my souL It became necessary
that I should suffer hodily to cure my heart-bleed. I placed
myself professionally where I found and knew all my mortifi-
cations in my profession, which seemed for the time to strew
ashes over the loss of my child-brother (for he was my child,
and loved me best in all the world), thus conquering my art,
184 CHABLOTTE OUSHICAK :
which, God knows, has never failed me, — never failed to
bring me rich reward, — never fsuled to bring me comfort
I conquered my grief and myself Labor saved me then and
always, and so I proved the eternal goodness of God. I
digress too much ; but you will see how, in looking back to my
own early disappointments, I can recognize all the good which
came out of them, and can ask you to lay away all repinings
with our darling, and hope (as we must) in God's wisdom and
goodness, and ask him to help us to a clearer vision and truer
knowledge of his dealings with us; to teach us to believe
that we are lifted up to him better through our losses than
our gains. May it not be that heaven u nearer, the passage
from earth less hard, and life less seductive to us, in conse-
quence of the painless passing of this cherub to its true home,
lent us but for a moment, to show how pure must be our lives
to fit us for such companionship % And thus, although in one
sense it would be well for us to put away the sadness of this
thought if it would be likely to enervate us, in another sense,
if we consider it rightly, if we look upon it worthily, we have
an angel in God*s hoiise to help us to higher and purer think-
ings, to nobler aspirations, to more sublime sacrifices than we
have ever known before."
The winter of 1862 - 63 was not marked by any special
event The Eoman winters passed in the usual routine
of social life, only each year more full and active and
busy. The circle of friendships widened and broadened
and deepened. Where there was a constant giving out
of good-will and kindness, the return was naturally " full
measure, filled up, pressed down, and running over" ; and
the effort necessary to meet this drain upon her strength
and energy, great as these were, overtaxed her nerves more
than she was aware of at the time, though those nearest
to her saw it and felt it, and often remonstrated against
it earnestly. It seemed, therefore, well when she decided,
toward the middle of the vrinter, to make another journey
HER LITE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 185
to America, one of her chief reasons, if not the chief one,
being her desire to act for the benefit of the Sanitary
Commission. Her heart and thoughts were with the
country in its hour of trial, and as with her, strength,
will, energy, all worked with the impulse of the heart
in straightforward endeavor, she suffered no obstacle to
stand between her and her determination to do what-
ever lay in her own special power to aid in the sacred
cause.
It was no light thing to do ; there were many lets and
hindrances in the way, — the feelings and the needs of
many to be consulted, thousands of miles to be traversed,
and much labor and weariness of spirit to be encountered.
But she was one of those spirits bom to act, and not to
be acted upon ; when once firmly persuaded that a cer-
tain course was to be pursued, she never looked back,
but went steadily, persistently on, meeting and bafiSing
obstacles, and conquering success by going bravely forth
to meet it
In pursuance of this object she sailed for America on
June 6th, and acted for the Sanitaiy Fund on the 12th
of September at Philadelphia, on the 25th in Boston, and
on the 27th of October in New York, as well as in Wash-
ington and Baltimore. Her own statement of the result
of her labors is contained in the following letter : —
"New York, October 81, 1868.
■
" Dear Dr. Bellows : I have at last received the accounts
and ' returns ' from the benefit given by me at the Academy
of Music, New York, on the 27th instant I have pleasure
in enclosing to you a check for the proceeds, after deducting
expenses for printing, advertisements, eta, according to en-
closed memoranda. The stockholders of the Academy, in the
most generous manner returned to me $150, making the rent
on that occasion 6nly $100. I beg to refer you to the en-
186 CHAfiLOTTE CUSHMAN :
closed note from Dr. J. F. Gray, accompanied by a check for
$50. A little more courage on my part might have increased
this sum considerably ; but I am yeiy thankful to the public
for enabling me to make even this amount of ofifering to your
noble charity.
" Enclosed please find acknowledgments frt>m the agents of
your Commission in Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington.
" I take the liberty of recapitulating these sums to you, the
President of the Commission, that I may recall to your mind
the conyersation I had with you expressive of the desire that
you should spare a portion of this amount to the Western
Sanitary Commission, from whose agents I have received very
touching appeals. My engagements in the East have pre-
vented me from visiting Chicago and St. Louis, as I fiilly in-
tended doing, where I should have asked frx)m their individual
populations the same help for their cause which the Eastern
cities have given me for yours. Will you let my inability to
go there plead for them if you can spare anything 1 I know
no distinction of North, East, South, or West ; it is all my
country, and where there is most need, there do I wish the
proceeds of my labor to be given. No one knows so well as
you where there is most need ; to you, therefore, I commit
my offering, and with every good wish for your success in
this and all things,
" I am very truly yours,
"Charlotte Cushman."
Dr. Bellows issued in return the following card : —
"New York, November 7, 1863.
" The President of the United States Sanitary Commission
feels it to be a great pleasure to call universal attention to
the patriotic munificence of our distinguished countrywoman,
Miss Charlotte Cushman, who, from the vessel in which she
leaves our shores, modestly sends him the full account of her
splendid donations to the sick and wounded through the United
States Sanitaiy Commission. They are as follows : —
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AKD MEMORIES. 187
Benefit at Academy of Muaic, FhOadelpliia, September 12 . $ 1,814.27
Benefit at Academy of Music, Boston, September 26 . . 2,020.75
Benefit at Grover's Theatre, Washington, October 17 . . 1,800.00
Benefit at Ford's Theatre, Baltimore, October 19 [this small re-
ceipt is attributable to the negligence and carelessness of
the manager. 0. C] 860.00
Benefit at Academy of Music, New York, October 22 . . 2,772.27
Total $8,267.29
'* This magnificent product of the genius of Miss Cushman,
devoted to the relief of our sufiering soldiers, is only the most
striking exemplification yet made of woman's power and will
to do her full part in the national struggle. Inspired with
love and pity, American women have been, by their labors
and sympathies, a real part of the army, and their ranks, un-
der leaders like Miss Cushman, will not break while their sons,
brothers, and husbands are faithful in the field.
" It is due to Miss Charlotte Cushman to say that this ex-
traordinary gift of money, so magically evoked by her spell, is
but the least part of the service which, ever since the war be-
gan, she has been rendering our cause in Europe. Her ear-
nest faith in the darkest hours, her prophetic confidence in
our success, her eloquent patriotism in all presences, have been
potent influences abrocul, and deserve and command the grati-
tude of the whole nation.
" In compliment to the noble woman whose generous gift I
here publicly acknowledge, the Commission has ordered the
whole amount to be expended through our home branches in
those cities where the several sums were contributed, that this
money may continue as long as possible to be sanctified by
the touch only of women's hands. It will thus reach our sol-
diers in battle-fields and hospitals charged with the blessings,
prayers, and tears of American womanhood.
"Henry W. Bellows,
" Prendent United States Sanitary Commission"
After Miss Cushman's return to Eome, in the winter of
the follovmig year, she was honored by the presentation
188 CHAELOTTE CUSHMAK :
of a large and superb album, containing in all about fifty
paintings in oil and water colors, which were contributed
by some of the leading artists of New York, Boston, and
Philadelphia to the great Central Fair held in the latter
city for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission. The
paintings were contributed with the understanding that
the album should be subscribed for and presented to
Miss Cushman by fidends and citizens of those cities in
which she had acted for the cause. The book is elegantly
bound, and is a valuable and much-prized record of those
stirring times ; with it came three smaller volumes, each
containing the names of the subscribers to this compli-
ment in the several cities.
In the course of this season Miss Cushman read the
ode on the occasion of the inauguration of the great
organ in the Music Hall, Bostoa A friend writes of
this event: "I never shall forget how beautiful she
looked that night, and how the organ and everything else
seemed small beside her, as she stood on the platform, so
simple and so grand in her black silk dress, which she
was so fond of"
These little reminiscences and enthusiasms of friend-
ship are very precious; they give the absolute realities
more than anything else: the mind is impressed; the
heart awakened; emotion, which is the grand magnetic
element whereby the real and ideal are fused together and
made one, springs up and recognizes for the time what-
ever of best and truest and holiest is before it; spirit
touches spirit, and a mutual and joyous recognition takes
place. So there is no higher joy than the heartfelt appre-
ciation and love which Carlyle has immortalized under
the name of " hero-worship," and no lower plane than a
systematic and cynical depreciation of its God-given truth
and beauty. Miss Cushman lived and wrought through
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIEa 189
this power, preserving a marvellous equilibrium of the
real and ideal in herself, and always able through emotion
to establish that higher relation with the hearts and souls
of others which is the highest gift of human conscious-
ness. Whatever may seem extreme or exaggerated in
this voliune is due to the writer's high appreciation of
this great gift, and her belief that it is the keynote to a
character which could not be fully illustrated without it
On November 3d she sailed again for Liverpool, and on
the 11th of December started for Bome, arriving there on
the 22d. Some few letters give expression to her think-
ings and doings. In one she alludes to the Eoman ques-
tion, then b^inning to occupy all minds. Writing to her
friend. Miss Fanny Seward, she speaks of the hurry and
rush of her life in Bome, and the difficulty she finds in
doing justice to her friends at a distance, the pressure near
at hand being so great
'* If only the day could be an hour or two longer ! But
Time the healer (Time the killer) flies faster here in Rome
than anywhere else in the world, I believe, or else it is that
the social duties and occupations press more closely than else-
where, and an engagement or claim upon our time treads more
nearly upon the heels of another than in any other city they
are allowed to do. Here, the population in winter being
mostly a floating one, everybody has to compress a great deal
of ^doing and being into a shorter space. The (mght to do rules
supreme. As I once heard an exhausted tourist exclaim lan-
guidly, when told she really ought to see this and that and
the other object of attraction, — ' 0, I have ought to'd until
I am fairly worn out and cannot do it any more ! '
" Something, I know not what, prevents the pleasure and
duty which is miles away from being performed as promptly
as those which hold you by the button. I don't know whether
I have ever told you that here in Rome there are or seem to
190 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
be strange differences in the value of things. For instance,
the pound weight, instead of being sixteen oimces, is only
twelve ; the foot measure, instead of being twelve inches, is
only nine ; and I think, in some way, this must apply to time
as well, so that the hour, instead of being sixty minutes long,
is only forty-five I And thus I try to explain to myself why I
can never bring as much to pass in Rome as in any other city.
My letters to you, dear, seem always to consist of one long
preface and no matter. But this arises from my disinclination
to allow you to think that I am neglectful of your sweet let-
ters, which are veiy grateful to me and deserve more prompt
response. I will be better, more worthy of your affection and
its expression, now that the whirl and hurry of the winter is
over. For with Easter comes the flitting of the winter birds,
when everybody who is not Roman or an artist migrates else-
where, and we who belong to the working tribes are able to
settle down to a quiet which is never known in the winter
months of the Eternal City. None but artists are seen about
the streets, and those only in the mornings and evenings ; for
the heat becomes too great to encounter in midday, and the
streets look like those of a d^erted town. Grass grows be-
tween the stones, and peace reigns calmer than even Christ's
vicar on ewrth, the Pope himself, — who, by the way, is the
knost pugnacious and contumacious old gentleman (not to
speak irreverently, to offend the eyes and ears of the powers
that be, if they chance to overhaul my letter at the post-
office before it leaves), and who seems disposed to fight all
creation, and even believes that his militant prayers against
Russia, for her behavior in Poland, has brought down from
Heaven this terrible pestilence which has been raging there.
They make the most of this ' outward and visible sign,' but
say nothing of their having been compelled by the pressure
from without to communicate with King Victor Emmanuel con-
cerning the bishoprics in Romagna^ which we look upon as
the entering wedge and wait the result with what patience
we may ! How can they expect of a Pope to be ^Eillible, or to
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AlO) MEMOBIES. 191
admit of the possibility of being so 1 And yet France goes on
quietly begging him to resign the temporal power, which, by
all the laws of Catholicism, he cannot do. Just as reasonable
would it be to expect Mr. Lincoln to consent to a breaking up
of the Union, which he had, on taking office, sworn to protect
and hold intact. Only physical force can make reason among
nations, which must be feared to be respected. The Roman
question can only be solved by making Home a free city, like
Hamburg. There cannot be two kings of Brentford, nor King
Victor and King Pope Pius in Rome.
" If it is not possible to do this, the question is no nearer
solution to-day than since Italy was first land. And this is
my political conclusion with regard to the country where I
make my winter home. With regard to my own dearly beloved
land, of which I am so proud that my heart swells and my
eyes brim over as I think to-day of her might, her nugesty,
and the power of her long-sufiering, her abiding patience, her
unequalled unanimity, her resolute prudence, her inability to
recognize bondage and freedom in our constitution, and her
stalwart strength in forcing that which she could not obtain
by reasoning ! Four years and a half ago I saw through your
father's eyes and heard through his voice that my faith would
and must be satisfied, so that I have not since then beaten
about to convince the unbelieving and the reluctant to be-
lieve, but have looked my faith. To-day my pride, my faith,
my love of country is blessed and satisfied in the news that
has flashed to us, that ' the army of Lee has capitulated I '
that we are and must be one sole, undivided — not common,
but uncommon — country ; great, glorious, free ; henceforth an
honor and a power among nations, a sign and a symbol to the
downtrodden peoples, and a terror to evil-doers upon earth I
" On Monday, the 24th, I received your most welcome let-
ter of the 4th of April, giving me a graphic description of all
you had been doing on those wonderful days. 0, 1 would have
given so much to have been there ! Never have I so heart-
ached for home ; and yet, if I had been at home, I should have
192 CHABLOTIE CUBHMAK:
felt that I wanted to huiiy on to Washington to see yonr
father and thank him with my heart and with my hands for
all his good works. The world will never know half how your
father has been the sustaining power in the government ; but
/ know it, and my soul is deeply gratefuL I had received a
telegram from Paris telling me of the occupation of Richmond,
etc., for I had kept myself informed upon all these matters
before any one in Rome, and it enabled me to give comfort
and joy on so many occasions. The telegrams of Sunday
night, from New York, 11th, brought us news of Lee's surren-
der, but the papers the next morning gave details of the news
of your flEtther's accident, which carried terror to my soul for
him and sadness for you in your great anxiety.''
Writing from Borne, in January of this year, to her
dearly beloved niece, Mr& K C. Cushman. She says : —
** Another six days' work is done^
Another [Friday] is begun
Return, my soid, eigoy the rest,*' etc (see Dr. Watts).
Communing with a daughter blest (G. C.)
might carry out the verse and rhyme; but 'blest' does not
quite signify what I would convey. * Bles$ed daughter,' I mean,
for are you not my daughter, and am I not blessed in having
such an onel A whole week has passed, and again I am at
my writing-table, talking by ' word of pen' to my darlings
over the sea, the dear ones who occupy so much of my
thoughts and my aflTections. How are they 1 What are they
doing, thinking, feelingi Do they love me best in the worlds Do
they want me as I want them 1 Do they think they have the
best 'mum,' as I think I have the best children, in the world 1
I hope so, else there is love lost between us ; and yet, we are
not cammm people, we have a specialty for adhering, and once
loving, we love always. Is it not so 1 I can answer for one,
and you for two others, and so all is well ; and my conclusion
is that we are very happy people, and having only one laige
cause for disquiet, namely, separation. We should try to be as
content as circumstances will let us be, findmg our oompensa-
H£B LIFE, LKTTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 193
tion in the large love and faith which we have in each other.
Few people are so blessed in their relations, few people have
so many causes and reasons for being thankfuL
'* What have I been doing since I wrote to you ) Just the
same routine of work, visits, etc. On Sunday I did not go to
church, but stayed at home to read the three cantos of Long-
fellow's 'Dante,' in the January number of the 'Atlantic'
How beautiful they are ! How thoroughly they impress you as
being faithful ! There is a simple grandeur in the language
and ideas which must be of Dante. This seems to me one of
Longfellow's special gifts, to render the thoughts of poets from
one language to another. The accomplished scholar thinks in
all languages, and thus we have a translation of Dante's 'Para-
diso,' which I don't believe has ever been equalled. I am so
thankful for this, not reading it in the original Ton would
say, then, how can you know that this is the best in the world 1
I can only answer, my iruHncU tell me that this is so; there
is a something in these words which carry me to the height
upon which I conceive Dante to be placed, and no other trans-
lation I ever saw has had the power to do this. Things at
home seem to be working together for good. I find the Peace
Democrats talking of sending commissioners to Richmond to
talk of terms. The administration Speaker elected, all things
seem easy, and the only way the peace men have been allowed
any share of the spoils is by changing their names to ' Con-
servative War Democrats.' I don't know how there can be
such a combination as conservative war Democrats : it is either
peace or war, and no half-way stage of action. But politics
does not mean reason, or sense, or justice, or equity, or law,
but only policy*
•* * Well, aunty, and what did you do on Monday f Went
for a ride. On Tuesday, we had a grand Bachelors' ball at the
Braschi, to which your aunty went in canonicals, namely, white
silk dress trimmed with black lace flounces. I had a hair-
dresser, and looked stimnmg. It was very brilliant. Your
aunty was a veiy merry bachelor. On Wednesday, a whist-
194 CHABLOTTE CUSHBIAX:
party at PalazEO BarberinL On Thursda;, another ride cm
horseback. Last night, a grand ball at Lady Stafford's. To-
day I have been making callsy and hunting up apartments for
friends. ....
'* Show me a man's intimates, and I will tell you what that
man is, if I never saw him. There are some men who would
rather reign in hell than serve in heaven ; but gradually these
men sink in the social scale, and their true value appears. I
bless my mother for one element in my nature, or rather my
grandmother, — ambition, I cannot endure the society of
people who are beneath me in character or ability. I ha^e to
have satellites of an inferior calibre."
In the spring of this year Miss Coshman made an ex-
cursion to Naples with a party of friends, for whom she
assumed the r61es of guide, courier, and "general utility
business" with her wonted kindly zeal and inborn ca-
pacity. From a letter written at Sorrento, under date,
April 25, 1 select the following : —
''My last hurried letter from Naples on the 18th will have
prepared you for my being found hereabouts ; but do not be
surprised if my letter is short and unsatisfactory. The shut-
ting myself up to write when in Home, and the being com-
pelled to do so, to guard myself from interruption, has made
me rather dependent upon solitude for ability to write at alL
Therefore, when sitting in company with four other ladies,
each of them occupied in different ways, some reading up
about the local matters, which make Sorrento a pleasant
resting-place, and occasionally thinking aloud the information
thus gained, as, for instance, '0, they have honey here!'
another replies, 'Have they honey V another sits cracking
hempseed to feed a poor little quail, snatched from an un-
timely fate (in the shape of a boy) yesterday ; another reads
the last ' Atlantic Monthly,' and ezdaims, ' How odd these
Americans are ! what strange galvanic stories they write ! '
another, who is busy writing herself, suddenly startles me
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 196
by saying, '0, Miss Cushman, can you tell me where in
Rome I can buy German paste for a canary-bird ) ' — knowing
the sort of intense animal I am, and how easy it is to send me
off bodily or mentally on any best which is required, you can
easily imagine how difficult it must be for me to think about
what I am writing. It is perfectly heavenly weather, — the sky
without a cloud ; the sun shining upon the water at a distance
(but not near, for you know the sun don't come upon Sorrento
or its waters until midday), and now it is half past ten o'clock
A.1L, the sea as calm as it can be and not be ' smooth as glass' ;
Naples distinctly seen opposite to us ; Yesuvius, in a gentle-
manly mood (not smoking), over on our right hand ; the little
towns along the edge of the sea, with their bright white houses
looking like pearls around the sapphire bay; the hum of
voices rising from far down on the edge of the beach, under
our windows, with an occasional snatch of * Santa Lucia ' or
'Carolina'; the air perfectly still, not too warm, nor with
enough of spring in it to take out its little ' snap ' of vigor.
I do assure you it is perfectly delightful ; and as if to help to
make it more so to me, yesterday morning I received your
letter of the 24th March, as well as more favorable news from
my mother ; so you see, dear, I have reason to see all the
beauty about me in roseate colors. We are making the usual
giro: leaving Naples on Wednesday, since which time we
have been to Salerno and Pcestum ; on Thursday, got to La
Luna at Amalfi ; on Friday, up the valley of St Drago to
Bavella and La Scala, to see the Saracenic remains, and down
by the vaUey of the mills, — a giro which thoroughly did me
up, reminding me that I am not so young as I was when I
visited these places in 1853 and 1857, but still as receptive of
the beauty around and before me as I was then."
On the 4th of March of this year (1865) Miss Cushman
writes from Borne : —
** What a day this is at home ! How grand Mr. Lincoln
must feel, that by the sheer force of honesty, integrity, and
196 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN :
patience, he has overcome fiiction to such an extent, that he
is to-day, by the ixmvicHons of the whole people, placed again
in the Presidential chair to guide and protect their interests
for four more years. The first election of a President may
have come through popular clamor, through the passions and
excitements of the moment being successfully played upon by
popular orators ; but the calm re-indorsement of faith in his
judgment, reason, calmness, prudence, and goodness, after such
a four years, is a spectacle sublime in the eyes of men and
angels, at a juncture like the present, when the world looks
on in curious wonder and doubt and distrust, at the struggle
upon which depend republican institutions for all future time.
God help him to keep true and faithful ! **
Speaking of one of the children, she says : —
" We shall see if we cannot make a clever man of him, and
then it will not matter much who was his aunt or grandmother,
while his ancestry from the spring or fount may have been
a prouder one than many can boast. The name Cushman
comes originally from the Cross-bearer, — the man who was
worthiest to carry the cross in the old crusading times, — and
it is not an unworthy stem for a family tree. Gkxl knows it
has been the lot of all ray branch of that genealogical tree to
bear crosses, but they have done it brayely, and always with
an upward and onward motto and tendency."
Part of the summer of this year Miss Cushman spent
at Harrowgate, having been ordered to use the mineral
waters of that place. She speaks of her stay there in a
letter to Miss Seward.
** You will be glad to hear that my stay at Harrowgate has
been of great good to me ; I am better and stronger and more
able to bear the strain of the winter upon me. For, seeming
so strong as I do, it would appear strange that any social tax
could weary me so much as does the gayety of a Roman
winter. I have so much society, so many people who come
HEB LIFE, LETTEES, AlfD MEMORIES. 197
to me with letters of introduction, so much to do in the way
of visiting and receiving of visits,— -which are the moths of life,
I think, — and then mj correspondence has been so laige, that
I am literally worn out. Harrowgate is the highest table-land
upon which you can live in England, and is, as I think I told
you, the ' Sharon ' of this countiy. This is my second siunmer
here, and I am deriving much benefit from my stay. We are
staying in a large, old-fashioned coimtry inn, situated at the
end of a veiy long and wide green common called the ' Stray.'
Our sitting-room opens by a few steps on to the lawn, where
we have lovely flowers, pretty, comfortable garden-seats, sun-
shine pouring in upon us (and you must be informed how
rare the sunshine is in England, to appreciate the blessing) ;
all the airs of heaven unchecked blow upon us, and bring us
healing; balm, strength, and new hope. Everybody walks
briskly here ; even the dogs feel the magnetic virtue of the
atmosphere, and cany their tails at a particularly stiff angle,
trotting about with an air of importance, as if they had much
to do in the world. Here we shall remain until the 1 6th, when
we hope to go to a very lovely country called the * Valley of
the Wharfe,' where are the ruins of Bolton Abbey, the most
beautiful in England. Towards the 22d we get to London, to
make ready for our journey to Rome, which we hope to reach
by the 22d of October, not a day later.
" I have done very little reading this summer. I am glad
you like Jean Ingelow. She is a charming writer; fresh,
vigorous, pure, and good. I wanted to ask you if you had
ever read Browning's 'Saul'; it is so veiy fine, full of
grandeur and meaning. You say so truly that we read and
read, and study meanings in a poet, and fail to comprehend
all he intends ; and then a day comes, when through suffering,
or trial, or mental growth of which we have not been aware
at the time, the meaning of the poet shines upon us clear as
light, and we marvel that we never understood before. I find
this so constantly, that I cease to marvel at it any more ; only
wait patiently for the revelation.
198 CHABLOTTE CtTSHMAN:
** Thanks for your promise of your father's speech, and jour
{SamiUar account of its manner of being given. The one you
sent has not reached me yet, but I see extracts from it in all
the English papers. It is pregnant with meaning, grand,
strong, comprehensive, faithful, and true ; as your noble &ther
ever is. The world abroad recognizes his power more than
that of any man in our country. He has truly been its
savior, and I love him individually for myself but generally
for my country, which owes him more than any other living
man. Thank him for me for all he has said in this speech
and all he has done for the country. I recognize in all things
that occur the results he prognosticated, and feel that he
deserves his title, 'Sage of Auburn'. How simple and how
dignified it is of him, whenever he has anything to say to the
country or the world, for him to go home to Aub.um to say
it. I think it is just splendid of him to do it in that way.
I should so like to hear him on one of those occasions.''
In a later letter from Borne, she writes : —
** Almost a month since I sent you off an unworthy diort
note, promising a letter, and now here is another of the same
size and calibre, starting off on the same errand of promise,
which I hope may be more ably and fittingly realized before
another month goes by. But ' man (and woman) proposes,
and God disposes'; and often — at least I can answer for one
human being, weak and erring — I am so entirely (imposed of
by circumstances and the hour, that I find all my own pro-
positions almost vain and worthless. Sometimes my friends
argue with me on what they consider the wrong of yielding
to all the social claims made upon me ; but I have an innate
necessity for repaying an obligation. If people pay me the
compliment to want my society, or ask my advice and counsel,
I must not rest under the obligation of the compliment they
pay me and their good opinion. Thus I try to do perhaps too
much ; but this is the day of small things, and the little or
the much I can do in this world must be done, even though I
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 199
suffer through my mability to perform all the duties and
pleasures which fisdl to my lot. So you will forgive me, dear,
my many shortcomings, believing, as I am sure you will,
that it is not for lack of love for you, or wish to write, but
simply that the day's work which is before me must be done
first ; and then come my own pleasures, chief among them the
communing with those who love me and care to know of my
life outward and inward.
I can hardly express my thankfulness that our home matters
are going on so well ; that rogues seem hanging themselves with
generous rope ; that honest men seem coming to their domin-
ion ; that incompetency seems to be finding its punishment,
provided by its own hand ; that honest merit seems silently to
be taking its place in the front ranks ; that the law will be
asserted by its own invincible and inevitable power ; and that
the one man who has held the helm against faction is stem-
ming the tide so bravely, that all men of all sects and creeds
are coming to own and to proclaim him.
Of our poets, whom we both love and prize, have you seen
Whittier 1 Do you know his poetry well? If not, you must
know it. He is a true soul, with a pure poet's heart. He
has written some of the most stirring of our ballads. The
one called * Cassandra Southwick,* and ' Massachusetts to Vir-
ginia,' and another, ' To the Reformers of England,' are among
the very fine things in our language. Last night I was read-
ing for some young friends from England the 'Guinevere'
Idyll of Tennyson, and the * Lady of Shalott ' ; and eveiy time
I read him I am more and more impressed with the beauty
of his rhythm. Never was such a master of versification in our
time. * The Lady of Shalott^' read in a measure slowly, is
like a gently flowing river, *as it goes down to Camelot.'
Ah, I wish we could have some summer days together in the
country, when I could point out to you all my treasures in
these mighty minds, and read to you what I find in them."
Miss Cnshman's friendship for Mr. Sevirard and his
high appreciation and regard for her are well known. His
200 CHARLOTTE CUSHHAN:
correspondence with her during the anxious years of the
war was a source of comfort and strength to her, and
through her to many others. His letters were by her
own special direction burned after her death.
It was not long after this that the fearful news of Mr.
Lincoln's death and the attack upon Mr. Seward flashed
like a thunderbolt upon the American colony at Borne,
blacker and heavier from coming out of a comparatively
clear sky. Miss Cushman's own words will best express
the feeling of the time. Writing to Miss Seward, she
says: —
" How my heart has ached for you and yours during these
last terrible three days ! In our dreadful imcertainty as to the
safety of those bo dear to us both, I am weak and powerless to
express what I feeL I only want to send you this one line to
let you know how I sympathize with you in your sufferiugs
for those you love ; you could know and fed this by your own
heart ; but you must let it speak to them all that I could offer
of condolence, sympathy, respect, and affection. I hardly know
what to say to you, for it is now a fortnight since this terrible,
awfiil act, and how it may have fared with you all it is dilficiilt
to conjecture. The last we have of news says, ' Mr. Seward is
considered out of danger, but Mr. Frederick Seward is in grave
peril ! ' We look so feverishly and anxiously for the news of
the 19th, which we hope to have to-morrow. Never has ex-
citement and anxiety reached such a point. All the Americans
here, meet, look at each other, and burst into tears. A meet-
ing was held at the Legation yesterday, and resolutions adopted
which reflect credit upon all who joined in them. This after-
noon we are to have a funeral ceremony or service performed
at the Legation for Mr. Lincoln, true friend, patriot, martyr ;
all the Americans have gone into mourning. The government
has ordered the flags draped in mourning for three days ; never
was there such a general feeling of horror, or such universal
expression of respect Your father's life is prayed for as never
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND HEMOBIEa 201
man's was before. One and all, friend and foe, feel how more
than necessary is his life to his oountiy ; and for me, I can
only say I have never felt such a sense of sorrow, such a fear
of bereavement and desolation, as I feel now through my fears
for him. If he is able to* hear it, convey to him through your
loving words what I would say but cannot ; and if he cannot
hear it (and what misery there is in that thought !) you will
convey it to your poor dear mother instead. God bless you
and help you, prays your attached
"Charlottb Cushmak.''
The natural results of all the pain and horror of this
time followed in the death of Mrs. Seward, and soon there-
after that of her daughter, Miss Fanny Seward.
Miss Cushman writes of this last sad event to Mr.
Seward: —
" How can I ever tell you of the sadness which filled my
soul at the intelligence which reached me on my return to
Home last Saturday night. No words can express what I feel
for you all, how truly my heart goes out to you in your great
sorrow and bereavement^ and how deeply with that sorrow for
you is mingled a grief for my own loss, which I find it so diffi-
cult to realize. I ask myself eveiy hour, * Can it be possible
that my sweet young friend has passed away, and shall I never
see her more 1 ' This is hard to believe. I have heard from
her so constantly this summer, that I have known of her fail-
ing health ; but her last letter brought me so much better
tidings that I was comforted much, and therefore the sudden-
ness of the announcement shocked me more than words can
telL Alas ! poor, dear child 1 how short has been her separa-
tion from the mother she adored, and what terrible sacrifices
have you, my noble and sorely tried friend, been called upon
to lay on the altar of your country ! How more than hard has
been your way ! how terrible your pain ! how little your seem-
ing reward ! but
' He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapped in donds and snow.
He who surpasses and sabdues mankind
202 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
Kntt look down on the hate of those below ;
Though high abore the son of glory glow,
And far beneath, the earth and ocean spread^
Bound him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Clontending tempests on his naked head ;
And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.'
My heart bleeds and aches for you as each successive blow
falls upon you. I find myself awe-stricken, wondering how it
can be possible that you should endure still more and live i
You have had to bear so much in every way, that it seems to
me you must be more than mortal if you are not broken in
pieces. I do not ask a word from yourself, for that would be
too much to expect at such a time ; but I should be so glad
if A would find time and heart to tell me of you all, and
if she can of her alsa I should be glad of some particulars.
About a month ago I received a letter from the dear child
friend, in which she enclosed to me two sweet poems expres-
sive of the sublimest trust in the tender love of God. Do you
know themi One of them, 'God Knows Best,' seemed to
me so full of saintly thought, as well as the most beautiful
faith and hope I She waa fitted for her translation, dear
friend, and this must be some consolation when you grieve
that you have been compelled to yield her up, a pure, true
sacrifice, worthy of the place to which she has been called.
Her last letter was a very long one, written in the midst of
those she most loved in the world, in the little library at
Washington. She described the scene to me, — what you were
each and all doing, and her feelings with regard to each and
alL Her tender love and reverence for you, and your sufifer-
ings during the last year and a half, had permitted her to
watch over you as you had ever so tenderly watched over her,
and had seemed to change your relations toward each other,
making her life larger and richer and happier. It would al-
most seem as if I ought to send you this letter ; it is always
sweet to know hew one is loved ; and you shall have this let-
ter if you wish, though it is sadly precious to me, as the last
I can ever have from her loving hand.
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 203
'* I know it is hard, but I shall be so glad of a word from
among you that I venture to ask it, trusting to the goodness
and kindness you have always shown me. I regret more than
ever that I am unable, through illness, to get to America this
summer ; it would have been a great joy to me then, and a
great consolation to me now. But it was not to be. Ah,
my friend, truly God's ways are not as our ways I That he
may bless and comfort you, prays ever
'^ Your fidthfuUy loving friend,
«Chaelottb Cushman."
In May of 1866 Miss Cushman was summoned to
England to her mother's death-bed. At that time aU Italy
was in excitement with the movement of troops, and reg-
ular travel was for a time much impeded. She met with
many delays on the road, and had the unspeakable pain
of meeting in Paris the sad intelligence that she was too
late. Mrs. Cushman died on the 7th of May, and she
only arrived in time to follow her remains to the grava
This loss cast a heavy shadow over her life, and she lost
after it much of her hoj)eful buoyancy of temperament,
health began to fail, and she sought change and relief
in movement.
From a letter of this period I extract the following.
It refers to certain troubles and states of feeling which
had caused her deep anxiety and much heart-burning.
The reflections are valuable, as showing how our poor
earthly trials and resentments fade away and come to
nothingness before the awful presence of death: —
'' I feel," she says, '' in being here we are doing more to
help the poor dear spirit to its final rest than by all the masses
that could be said or sung by priest or pope. Tou, who know
our inmost hearts, will judge us fairly in this act. We know
that we are doing what would have brought comfort to her
poor dear tired heart while living, but what in the pride of
204 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
our tempers we could not render until we laid her in the
earth by the side of the child she so loved, and for seven long,
weary, troubled years longed to rest beside. God forgive us,
and make us see in this how poor are all earthly resentments,
how unworthy of our high calling as ministers each to do his
work and not our own separate individual vengeances! I
don't know, but it seems to me now as though all other
troubles that can come to me will be more easily dealt with
than they have ever been before. We shall see. The future
must judge us, and we can only ' watch and pray.' "
It was during the winter of 1867, in Rome, that Miss
Cushman, in her eflfort to help a deserving and suflfering
artist, conceived the idea of presenting to the Boston
Music Hall the masterly alti^rilievi which now adorn
its walls. It was her hope that, after seeing these pro-
ductions, a subscription might be raised in Boston to put
them into a more durable material than plaster; and with
this view she entered into correspondence with Dr. Upham,
the President of the Association. It was not found prac-
ticable at that time, however, to raise the money for this
purpose, and the reliefs were inserted as they came.
The Association, however, ordered from the artist two
other brackets in the same style, sustaining busts of Gluck
and Mendelssohn, which were also placed in the walls of
the Music Hall, making a series of admirable and ap-
propriate ornaments; Hie Association did not entirely
abandon the idea of being able to have these works exe-
cuted in marble, and Miss Cushman proposed, whenever
any effort of the kind should be made, to give the fund
the benefit of a performance for that purpose.
This good intention was never called for, and the brack-
ets remain as they came, " things of beauty and joys for-
ever" (though in a very perishable material), or at least as
long as Music Hall shall be spared the fate which it is
said awaits upon such structures sooner or later.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 205
The original gift comprised, as we have said, basts of
three great musical composers, upheld by brackets, orna-
mented with allegorical figures, suggesting the distinctive
genius, style, and place in musical history of eacL The
heads are modelled in heroic, or more than life, siza
The brackets are some five feet long by three feet wide.
The figures stand out in full aUo-rUievo, They are the
works of a Danish sculptor, a fellow-worker of Thorwald-
sen, WUhelm Mathieu by name, who, though he has
created real works of genius, lived there poor and old,
and comparatively unknown. Several years ago he de-
signed and executed for the Grand Duchess Helena of
Bussia busts of three great musical composers. These
are the works which Miss Cushman, captivated by their
beauty, has presented to Music HalL
'' The first bust is that of Palestrina, a very noble head,
high, symmetrical, and broad, with features regular and finely
cut, giving the impression of rare purity and truth of charac-
ter, fine intellectuality, the calm dignity of a soul well cen-
tred, a beautiful harmony of strength and delicacy.
'' As Palestrina was the great reformer of church music, the
master in whom pure religious vocal music first attained to
perfect art, there stands forth from the centre of the bracket
a figure representing the genius of Harmony, as it is called
by the artist, or say St. Cecilia, holding an open music-book
of large wide pages, between two angels, who are placed a
little higher in the background : one of them with folded
hands, and lost in devotion, reads over her shoulder from the
book ; the other, pointing to the notes, appears to ask her
whence the music came, and the genius, whose eyes are up-
turned, indicates that it is given by inspiration from above.
The three forms and faces are instinct with a divine beauty ;
the central figure is one of unconscious dignity and grace, and
is the loftiest idea of pure womanhood. Above and behind
206 CHABLOTTE CUBHMAK:
this group, for the immediate support of the shelf which holds
the bust, there is a choir of little cherubs, with sweet faces,
nestling eagerly together, and with little arms encircling each
other's necks, who are singing over the shoulders of Cecilia,
and seem to be trying the new heavenly music. It needs no
argument to show the fitness of the allegory ; it speaks for
itself.
*^ The next bust is Mozart's, type of all that is graceful and
spontaneous in music, and of perpetual youth ; the purest
type of genius perhaps that ever yet appeared in any art, or
in literature, if we except Shakespeare. Not that there has
been no other composer so great, but that there has been none
whose whole invention and processes have been so purely
those of genius. Learned and laborious though he was, yet
he created music as naturally as he breathed ; music was his
veiy atmosphere and native language. The busts and por^
traits which we see of Mozart dififer widely, almost irrecon-
cilably. This one adheres mainly to the portrait from life of
Tischbein, with aid from several sculptures. Of all the busts
we have seen, it seems the worthiest to pass for Mozart It
has the genial, beaming, youthful face, with nothing small or
weak in any feature, — the full eyes, square eyebrows, broad,
large, thoughtfiil forehead ; the full, compact head ; the long
nose withal. Altogether it is very winning.
''Mozart was the complete musician; his genius did not
wholly run in one direction. like the other greatest modem
masters, he was master in all kinds, in symphony as well as
in song. But wherein he lives pre-eminent is in the lyric or
dramatic union of orchestra and human voices, best shown
in his operas, but shown also in his sacred compositions.
Accordingly, to symbolize at once the most graceful minister
that music ever had, as well as his peculiarly lyrical province,
the artist has given for a central support to the bust the
trunk of the German oak, about which, under its umbrageous
canopy, circle the three Graces, with flying feet and flow-
ing skirts, linked hand in hand, sisterly, in mutual guidance ;
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMOBIEa 207
though in truth the middle one guides the other two, for
cause which shall appear.
*' In these three Graces he haa represented the three char-
acters of music, — the joyous, the sacred, and the tragic. The
foremost in the dance, with full, open face and breast, all
sunshine and delight, with the right arm thrown up, and
holding a bunch of grapes over her head, is joyous in the
sweetest sense; her other hand is gently detained by her
religious sister, — the unspeakably lovely one between us and
the oak, whose shoulders thrown back, and intent head in
half profile, slightly bent in serious blissful meditation, remind
us not a little of Jenny Lind, save that in beauty it exceeds
her as far as she exceeded herself when she rose in song. Her
left arm sustains, and seems to lead forward, her drooping
sister Tragedy, whose head, deeply bent, looks off and down-
wards to the lef%^ and takes the shadow of the picture, while
the left arm is gracefully thrown up to balance the raised
right arm of the joyous one. At their feet the masks of
Tragedy and Comedy lean against the tree, grouping with the
pineapple of a thyrsus stick. The whole group is exquisite
— so rhythmical, so fluid, free, exhaustless in its movement,
that it becomes fugue and music to the eyes, drapeiy and
all accessories in perfect keeping. Around the top of the oak
stem is carved the word ' Requiem,' the last unfinished work
and aspiration of the composer, below which a wreath of laurel
rests upon the oak leaves. The Mozart seems to us the hap-
piest conception of the three. This one design should be
enough to make its author famous.
" Beethoven is the subject of the third bust, which also is
extremely interesting ; and yet to many it will prove the least
satisfactory of the three. Indeed, Beethoven is fieur more diffi-
cult to symbolize in art than either of the others. The head
is modelled mainly from a good bust made in Vienna, and is
doubtless far more true to actual life, if not a stronger head,
than Crawford's noble but only ideally true statue. Whether
a better bust of Beethoven exists we know not ; but certainly
none so good has found its way before to America.
208 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN:
"But how to symbolize the genius of Beethoven, — one so
many-sided, so profound, struggling with untoward fieite, yet
full of secret hope and joy beyond the cloud, of glorious aspi-
ration for the human race, — one bom into the new era with
the hope of universal liberty and sanctity and brotherhood 1
It is easy to think of his power, and how he wields the thun-
derbolts and smites in the climax of his harmonies, and how
Jove-like and all-conquering he is. The Germans sometimes
call him the ' Thunderer'; and so our artist has chosen, for
support of the bust, Jupiter Tonans himself, sitting throned
upon his eagle, which clutches the thunderbolts in its talons
and soars through immensity. Above the god's shoulders ap-
pear two winged genii holding up the bracket There is a
fine truth to the glorious uplifting sense his music gives us
in the idea of being borne aloft by Jove's strong eagle.
"But the sweetness, the tenderness, the frolic fancy, are
quite as characteristic as the strength and kingliness of
Beethoven ; and our artist has made the Thunderer relax his
gravity and listen with inclined, smiling face to a little urchin
of a Cupid, seated on the eagle's wing, who, with upraised looks
and hands, is telling merry stories to the god of gods, clearly
in allusion to the humorous passages — the scherzos — in
Beethoven's music. The thought is a happy one."*
In September of 1867 Miss Cushman writes from Bude,
a little fishing-village on the picturesque coast of Corn-
wall: —
* I find this worthy description of these interesting scolptures in the
Atlantic Monthly for March, 1868, and have thonght it well to insert
it here, not only for its own sake, bnt by way of calling public attention
once more to them, and to the fact that they are now so placed in Music
Hall that they are never really seen, and to express the wish of many
admirers, that they might now be transferred to the Museum of Art, and
placed in a position to be seen and appreciated, where they would be *
monument to Miss Cushman*s taste as well as to that generous quality of
heart which prompted her desire to further and bring out the manifesta-
tion of other arUsts' genius. I have recalled them and their presentation
H£B LIFE, LSTTBBa, AKD MEMOBIES. 209
^' I do 80 wish you could have been here with me ; such a
quaint, simple, piimitive place, widi a lovely beach for bathr
ing, nestled amid cathedral-like rocks, and no Mrs. Grundy
to see or care for, so you can wear what you choose ; food ex-
cellent, and cheapness amaeing. In its general aspect, Bude
is not unlike Newport; the cliffs are something like, but
finer and grander, and iiie downs much more extenuve. There
is a little breakwater to keep off the encroachments of the
Atlantic waves, which roll in here miles in extent, a splendid
sight We, with three dear Mends of ours, go down and sit
fi>r hours among the rocks and watch the waves coming, dasb-
ing, and booming up against them, and thrown back again, in
a wilderness of milky foam, which beats again and again upoa
the rocks until it is caught up by the wind and blown about
like great white sea-birds. One day we saw Maodonald, who
is living in a cottage here with hosts of children, cross over
the breakwater when the tide was just beginning to creep
over it. He carried one baby in his arms, led another by the
hand, and a third toddler held on by the second. We watched
this procession breathlessly, as you may imagine. They ar-
rived safely at the other end, where the breakwater ends in a
high mass of rock upon which are some buildings. Now the
question arose whether they would attempt the return, for
eveiy moment the tide washed heavier over and between the
huge stones of the breakwater ; presently, back they came,
almost blinded by the spray and foam, but full of courage and
to the hall as a fine example of Miss Cnshman*s manner of doing things
of this Idnd, not merely giving help to a deserving artist, which is easy
where mere money is concerned, bat giving it in a way which, beside
helping his material needs, supplied that still more important aliment
for which he was suffering, namely^ appreciation and encouragement in
his art Add to this the esthetic value of these gifts as well as their
value to the country in their beautiful and varied suggestiveness, and it
wiU be seen how far-reaching and complete were Miss Cushman's ways of
dealing in such matters, and what capacity and energy she brought to bear
upon them, taking untold trouble in the way of correspondence, manage-
ment, etc., of which those who ei\joy the results very littie dream.
210 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAN.
pluck, not one of them shrinking or betraying the least sign
of fear. The bahj crowed aloud with delight. Macdonald
came to speak to me afterward, and made very light of the
adventure. *^ It does them good," he said ; *' they like it" I
am so much better and stronger for this wild, unceremonious
life among the rocks and deep-sea caves. We have our din-
ner sent down to the shore, and eat it with good appetite and
plenty of sea-salt. Then we sit and read or sleep, propped
against rocks, and full of content until the spirit stirs us to
movement^ and then we clamber about and explore and find
no end of curious things. The tide &lls here so many feet
that the caves are full of deep-sea curiosities left in the pools
and shallows."
CHAPTER X.
DRAUATIC BCAI^INaS.
" Tbe pnipots of playing
It to ihow vlrtne her own reattue.
Scorn hei avn Image, uid tha very age and bod; ot tha tima
HU form and preMure.''
BamUl.
r was not iintS the last six years of her life that
I Miss CoBbman fully developed her unequalled
I ability as b dramatic reader. She had given
occasional public readings before that time. She was al-
ways ready to amuse and delight the social circle, and she
rarely refused to lend her powerful aid in that way to any
worthy object of charity ; but it was not until these later
years, when, by the advice of physicians and the counsels
of her own strong heart, she sought refuge from herself in
hei art and nobly struggled against the lowerii^ influ-
ences of a fatal malady in the exercise of her great gifts,
that she came to what was undoubtedly the highest cul-
mination of ber genius.
In this effort, which was persistently and thoroughly
pursued through trials of strength and patient endurance
unparalleled, she did forget herself, and rose always nobly
and unflinchingly to the heights of ber possibility, and
to the entire satisfaction of her hearers, little dreaming,
while so rapt and delighted, how much of pain and suf-
212 CHABLOTTE CtTBHMAN:
fering was held in abeyance, if not absolutely conquered,
in the effort All Miss Cushman's nearest friends weiB
anxious and troubled when she came to this resolution
to continue working. It was difficult for any one to
believe how completely spirit could conquer matter in
her nature, and to those who watched this struggle dur-
ing these latter years ; it was not strange that they never
could fully realize the possibility of surrender in the end.
She was heroic in her suffering, as in all things else. She
it was who sustained others ; she held them up in her
strong arms and comforted them, instead of leaning heav-
ily upon them. In her sick-room she was still as much
a queen as when, in the r61e of Katharine, she drew the
faithful picture of a noble and saintly death-bed.
It was in this play, " King Henry VIII.," at Provi-
dence, that she made her first essay as a reader, after
her resolution was taken. She read only the play ; she
had not then added to her repertoire the innumerable
subjects with which she afterwards diversified her pro-
grammes. On this occasion she was a little nervous,
and friends among the audience not less so. But the
moment she made her appearance on the platform they
felt that all fears for her were superfluous ; for her there
was "no such word Bsfail"
The surpassing power of concentrativeness, which may
be said to have been the keystone to the arch in her
character, brought her at once, full, rounded, and com-
plete, to the perfect possession of herself and the needs of
the occasion. She seemed to cast off, with grand ease,
every influence, every suggestion of any other life but
the one she was for the time to interpret She identified
herself with it, and from the moment when, after her
graceful, self-possessed entrance, she seated herself at her
table, and, with one comprehensive glance which ^emed
HER UFB, LBITEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 213
to gather in all her audience and hold them, as it were, by
a spell peculiarly her own, — the spell of a potent and irre-
sistible magnetism, — she set aside all feeling of personal
identity, and lived, and moved, and acted the varied per-
sonages of the stoiy as they each came upon the scene ;
and not only in voice and word, but in look and bearing,
they lived before us, each one distinctly marked and
individual, and never by any chance merging into the
others, or losing its clearly marked character.
It hardly needed that she should ever repeat over the
names of the dramatis persona: ; they spoke for them-
selves, and came and went as vividly, and far more ably,
than they are often seen upon the stage. It was well said
by a friend, on one occasion, " I much prefer hearing Miss
Cushman read to seeing her act, because in the readings
she is so well supported." All the minor parts are given
their full value and significance, and one receives a strong
impression of what the drama might be if this com-
pleteness were more persistently aimed at Often these
small parts in able hands assume an unexpected impor-
tance, are, indeed, like certain shifting tints or fitful
lights in a picture, important adjuncts to the general
effect, and meant to be such by the artist or dramatist ;
connecting links, as it were, whereby the passion or
emotion is subdued or heightened; points of repose
upon which the mind can rest for a moment, contrast-
ing or enhancing the situation. Shakespeare is full
of such artistic contrasts, and Miss Cushman felt and
used them with her wonted dramatic instinct In '' Mac-
beth," for example, she always read a scene, seldom or
never acted, where a drunken porter holds the stage
for a time with a kind of maudlin soliloquy, between
the dumb horror of the midnight murder and the awful
tumult of its discovery. This bit of humor on the
214 CHABLOTTE CUSHHAK :
very verge of hell is a kind of artistic necessity, and
carries out an artistic law; and the ignorance and indiffer-
ence to all such delicate shades in the ordinary conduct
of the theatre shows how very large a margin for prog-
ress exists there.
To return to the reading of Queen Katharine. From the
moment of her entrance all anxiety ceased. It was com-
pletely successful, and hardly needed that she should ask,
when it was over, with the eager simplicity which was a
part of her nature, "Well, were you satisfied?" and to
flush with gratification at the response, " Soul-satisfied."
This appreciation from those she loved was even more
necessary to her than the larger verdict of the public;
though to her quick spirit that was very needful She
was always working hard for it, and could never be satis-
fied unless it came. Sometimes it seemed as if she might
surpass the bounds of the highest endeavor in her effort
to secure this ; that it might be a temptation to her to
overdo. Her first and instinctive creation was always
her best But of what art may not this be said ? Human
effort must be more or less imperfect In a bright, crea-
tive moment comes a JUish, as it were, of influence from
some (xod-given source ; the hand, the pen, the tool, works
with power, something far beyond our ordinary efforts, —
it may be crude, incomplete ; the common eye cannot see
its value; we ourselves hope from it still unutterable
things ; but there is in it something not to be improved
upon ; all the care and work and study in the world will
not add to that intangible something ; labor only weakens
it, what is called finish only disguises it, it is lost in the
handling, it is spiritual and immortal This it is which
makes the rough sketches of great masters so valuable
and important The very highest culture covets them,
the most precious fruition of the world culminates in these
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 215
sparks from an immortal source. It is the only way that
we can explain what is called the inequality of genius ;
no human creature can be always up to the height of
the best that is in them, and they do not always know
their best The love of the world for outside glitter or
polish, the feverish craving for excitement, the demand
for the sensational and extreme, has ruined many an artist
and spoiled many a work of true genius. If Miss Cush-
man yielded to such influences at all, — and it requires the
strongest kind of a nature to resist them, — it was in a
very modified degree ; her nature was too thorough and
too instinctive to err much on the wrong side, if at alL
The Shakespearian Headings were of course her highest
manifestation in this branch of her art Such a combina-
tion of fine presence, noble voice, perfect delivery, and
admirable elocution has seldom been brought to bear
upon the matchless productions of Shakespeare ; but she
possessed beside a large and varied repertoire of choice
reading, in which her ability found unlimited range, and
left her without a rival Earnestness, intensity, here as
ever, were the chief characteristics of her style ; but there
was never wanting in its proper place, tenderness, deli-
cacy, pathos ; while humor, from its subtlest to its broadest
shades, has probably never found an abler interpreter.
Of her Shakespearian Readings, " Macbeth " must take
the first place, but Queen Katharine was her favorite part
She was greatly in sympathy with the noble, pious, and
long-suffering queen, who, in a position of unmerited
abasement, knew how to bear herself so royally; and she
identified herself so completely with the character, that
the tender inspiration of the last scene would be visible
in her face and eyes long after she had left the stage.
The part of Lady Macbeth, on the contrary, she disliked.
The marked contrast between these two parts, which.
Z16 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN:
during the latter years of her life, when her range of
acting parts became so limited, she was called upon so
constantly to repeat, she often discussed with masterly
analysis and depth of insight, — the good and the evil
principles warring upon the field of life, the one triumph-
ing through appcu^nt failure, the other wrecked amid ap-
parent success ; the noble and saintly queen rising above
all her woes in the divine panoply of virtue ; the bloody
and remorseless murderess overwhelmed and destroyed
by the recoil of her own weapons upon herself, able to
do the evil, but unable to bear its consequencea
She liked better to read ** Macbeth" than to act it,
because in the reading of the other parts she could find
relief from the tension and strain she experienced in the
realization of a character so opposed in all ways to her
own. It may be said, it is especially the function of
the dramatic art, and the crowning gloiy of an artist, to
be able to embody all shades and varieties of character,
whether in sympathy with them or not This is im-
doubtedly true, and Miss Cushman never allowed her
want of sympathy with a part to afiect or weaken her
interpretation of it ; but we are speaking now, not merely
of Miss Cushman as she appeared upon the stage, but
trying to give a rounded and complete portrait of her in
all her phases, both on and off the stage ; and there was
a side to her which was above and beyond the mere act-
ing of a part, a side of her nature which made her far
more than an actress ; which enabled her to fill the r61e
of a noble and thoughtful woman. She analyzed all her
parts, and missed no shade of their true embodiment ; but
for her own supreme rdle, no study and no analysis was
necessary, for God had cast her for the part
It is well known that Miss Cushman on a few occasions
acted the part of Hamlet, and it was a performance which
HEB LIFE, LEITEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 217
gave her intense pleasure. She allades to it in some of
her letters as the very highest effort she had ever made,
and the most exhausting ; of all her parts, this one seemed
to fill out most completely the entire range of her powers.
What has been said of Bomeo in another part of this
memoir applies equally to Hamlet. It is a part which
cannot be well filled, except by a man too young to have
achieved the necessary experience : a crude Hamlet is in-
sufferable ; an old Hamlet is equally incongruous ; in this
respect Miss Cushman satisfied the eye, in all others she
gratified the mind. The matchless delivery of that im-
mortal language, no word or sentence slurred over or " come
tardy off," no delicate intricacies of thought left obscure,
but all illuminated by a genius created for such interpre-
tation, was alone a treat beyond comporisoa Miss Cush-
man looked the part of Hamlet as well as she did that of
Bomeo. Her commanding and well-made figure appeared
to advantage in the dress of the princely Dane, and her
long experience in the assumption of male parts took
&om her appearance all sense of incongruity. In fact,
her excellence in whatever she undertook to do disarmed
criticism and satisfied the mind and the eye at once.
Her assumption of the part of Cardinal Wolsey was
another exceptional triumph of the like kind. In a notice
of the time I find it alluded to as ^ a magnificent piece
of acting, which fairly carried away her audience ; even
for a man it is an arduous character, and we had doubts
of the success which would attend it ; but she knew her
own powers, and commanded a great success. In the
third act, in which the Cardinal faUs from greatness, no
actor or actress on the stage can equal her. She realized
to our memory the palmy days of the drama, and made
old play-goers recall the times of Cooke, Kean, and Ma-
cready.** She spoke of it often, and criticised her own
218 CHA&LOTTB CUSHMAN:
perfonnance as fully and fireely as she would have done
that of another person. The chief difficulty she found in
it was the necessity for keeping up to, and above, in voice,
bearing, and impression, the other male parts in the play,
especially in the scene where the fallen Cardinal is baited^
as it were, by the rude and triumphant nobles who rejoice
in his discomfiture. In this scene great power is neces-
sary to avoid being overborne by mere noise and violence,
and falling below the moral level which the Cardinal
must maintain to be even in ruin the ''high Cardinal"
whom Shakespeare drew. It may be fancied how easily
a weak assumption of ttds part might at this point drop
into the contemptible. Miss Cushman confessed that she
held her own with difficulty ; but that she did hold it,
there can be no doubt She looked the part well, and
was in all points of dress and bearing admirable. Her
reading of this part did not fall below her acted concep-
tion of it, and possessed the value of a higher interpreta-
tion through the more delicate and subtle rendering of
the other characters.
Although Miss Cushman's special gifts, combined with
her noble presence and fine voice, adapted her most for
tragic parts, the lighter creations of comedy found in her
an apt and capable interpreter. It will not be necessaiy
to recall to the memories of this generation her early
triumphs in such parts as Bosalind, Beatrice, Juliana,
Lady Gay Spanker, etc. In the readings, her genuine
and genial enjoyment of the minor humorous characters
scattered all through Shakespeare's plays will be well
remembered, as well as many other efforts in which the
light and sparkling wit of comedy widened and deepened
into the broadest and richest humor. There was some-
thing so infectious in her own enjoyment of the fun that
she took her audience completely along with her; the wave
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 219
of sympathy gathered ihem all together into such a genial
glow of enjoyment and self-foigetfulness, that convention-
alities were forgotten, the hedges and barriers which fence
human souls from one another were thrown down, and
strangers exchanged smiles and comments, and all felt
that some potent spell had evoked the friendliness firom
the depths of their hearts, and that they were in some
new sense brethren in feeling and sympathy.
This power of creating an atmosphere of love and kind-
ness about her, which she exercised so fully in her private
relations, was thus found capable of attaining a wider
scope and achieving a broader influence. She loved to
evoke this kind of sympathy : she worked for it by an
instinctive law of her nature, and never could be quite
satisfied until she felt that it was effected ; then how she
glowed and basked in the reflection of her own sunshine
from the faces about her, how she fed on the emotion she
had herself elicited, and how by her own large true-
heartedness she opened and widened and softened the
hearts of others.
Those readings which formed the second part of her
entertainments may be classed under the three heads,
of emotional, heroic, and humorous, although she read
to perfection anything purely Ijrrical, as, for example,
the " Lady of Shedott," than which a purer, sweeter, more
harmonious utterance never fell from mortal lips. Yet
her great force undoubtedly lay in such compositions as
possessed a narrative and dramatic interest; and as the
needs of a mixed audience had always to be considered
in her selections, probably no one ever before met so large
and varied a demand as she did. After the tragedy,
ought by all the laws of human nature to come the farce ;
and the comic selection became as indispensable as the
Irish song after a Boman receptioa
220 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAN :
Among her emotional readings may be mentioned "The
Young Gray Head," by Mrs. Southey ; a touching narra-
tive poem which always brought tears from her audience.
Tennyson's ^'Grandmother" was another of this class;
remarkable for the sustained manner in which she pre-
served the appearance, voice, and accent of an aged woman,
who with the garrulity of extreme age goes over and over
the scenes and impressions of her youtL
'* Serenty years ago, Annie,
Seventy yean ago."
In marked contrast with this, yet with much the same
sustained evenness of declamation, whereby with masterly
skill she subordinated her whole force to the weird and
supernatural character of the poem, preserving its solem-
nity and yet losing none of its suppressed energy, I
would recdl the remarkable reading of " The Skeleton in
Armor." It might be compared to a fine symphony of
Beethoven, or the solemn funeral march of Chopin; it was
more musical than dramatic, and full of the suggestive-
ness of tone as well as word, with the added force of im-
personation ; for, as usual, face and form became imbued
with the personality of the warlike apparition.
" Then from those cayemous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise."
By some power, known only to herself, she took on this
supernatural aspect The solemn lines fell from her lips
like deep reverberations from some distant funeral bell, and
yet with an undertone, a sort of suppressed martial clang,
as if the spirit of the old Viking still warmed to the memory
of his warlike exploits , and when the verse was reached
where he tells his triumph over his pursuers, —
*t
And, as to catch the gale,
Bound veered the flapping sail.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 221
Death 1 was the helmsman's hail.
Death without quarter !
Midships, with iron keel.
Struck we her ribs of steel,
Down her black hulk did reel
Throng the black water 1 **
a sense of horror seemed to pass all through the audience,
making " the nerves thrill and the blood tingla" Of the
same type, and treated in the same way, was Bossetti's
strange ballad of "Sister Helea" Here also was felt
this mastery over the nerve-centres of her listeners, the
same instinctive grasp of all the subtleties of the poet's
meaning, the same intense, sustained, and powerful work-
ing up, without apparent effort, to an artistic climax, of
which not many were capable of realizing the full force
imtil they felt it in their nerves and blood, and then they
hardly knew what had so thrilled them.
Great as was Miss Cushman's rendering of this class
of subjects, there was still another field where her genius
shone with a more resplendent lustre and produced still
more marked effects. This was in the rendering of the
heroic ballads of Macaulay, Tennyson, and Browning. It
would be difficult for any pen to do justice to this theme,
still more one so inexperienced. In "The Battle of Ivry,"
for example, wherein seems concentrated in one blazing
sheaf all the martial and religious fervor of the time, it
would seem impossible to give the faintest idea of the
impulse, the enthusiasm, the chivahic loyalty, the mar-
tial energy which Miss Cushman imparted to the lines, —
the rush and hurry of the battle, the shifting tumult of
the strife, the valor and clemency of Henry, and, through
all and dominating all, the deep, fervid, passionate devo-
tion to G^ and king.
' Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, ftom whom all glories are.
And glory to our sovereign li^;e, King Henry of Navarre."
222 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
All this ifl in the poem, but sleeping, as it were, until
evoked by the master spell of an interpreting genius.
" The Charge of the Light Brigade," by Tennyson, and
Browning's masterly poem, "How they brought the good
News firom Ghent to Aix," were brilliant examples of the
same kind. Macaulay's noble poem of '' Horatius " was a
more varied and sustained effort^ but fiill of the same
fervid quality. In aU these Miss Cushman found space
and room for the exercise of her highest and strongest
powers; but concentrated force, sustained eneigy, mas-
terly elocution, though great &ctors in the general result,
would have been as nothing, unless infused and welded
together, as it were, by the earnest enthusiasm, the deep
spiritual force of her nature, feeling and interpreting
whatever of highest and noblest and best lay underneath
the heroic lines ; so in each and every manifestation of
herself on the stage, on the platform, or in private life,
she touched the heart ; and this was the secret, if secret
it may be called, of all her influence and of all her success.
In one sense she was an interpreter of the thoughts of
others; in another she was a creator, inasmuch as she
made them live doubly and trebly in the minds of others,
to whom, but for her, they might have been as sealed
fountains.
One more of these heroic themes remains to be noted.
In the quaint ballad of " Herv^ Kiel " Browning has not
more skilfully told the story of a simple act of disinter-
ested heroism than Miss Cushman has made it live and
move and breathe before her audience. One saw the
honest sailor so quietly and so simply acting his great
part, so calmly and so bravely ignoring that he had done
anything worthy of reward, so contentedly and gladly ask-
ing and receiving the poor guerdon of a hoUday to be
spent with his wife on shore : —
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 223
" ' SiDce 't is ask and have, I may ;
Since the others go ashore, —
Come I A good, whole holiday 1
Leave to go and see my wife,
Whom I call the Belle Aorore V
That he asked and that he got —
Nothing more."
Mijss Cushman's readings of Browning were especially
fine, and would have delighted that impetuous and subtle
genius, could he have heard them. The ruggedness and
roughness of the metre were lost sight of in her vigorous
declamation, for she declaimed rather than recited them.
All obscurities of diction and involutions of thought be-
came unravelled as if by magic, and the full force of the
poet's meaning flashed out with a new and intense light
She was very fond of reading Browning in private to
chosen listeners, and she dearly loved Mrs. Browning's
poetry. During her Boman days she delighted many
with " Casa Guidi Windows " and afterwards, it will be
remembered, she introduced parts of this beautiful poem
into a reading called " Roman Pilgrims," wherein was em-
bodied some of the poetical inspirations to which Bome
and Italy had given birth.
Some of Miss Cushman's finest readings were of what
are called ''dialect poems," a department in which she
was quite unrivalled. Who could ever forget, for exam-
ple, her reading of " The Death of the Old Squire," a sim-
ple, homely, but terrible picture, or, rather, a tableau v^i-
vant over which shifts and changes the shadow of a fear-
ful catastropha All of her readings were of the nature
of pictures, full of the subtlest lights and shades and the
most wonderful suggestiveness, presented with a vividness
of local coloring which compelled the mind to a full reali-
zation of the scene which lived and moved before it
Of none of these can this be said more truly than of
224 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
this ** Death of the Old Squire/' and in none did she feel
heiself more thoroughly at home. With what vigor and
truth she painted in the rough, quaint language of the
old servant, —
''The wild, mad kind of a ni^t, as black as the bottomlefls pit";
the wind, the rain, —
" (Well, it did ndnX dashing the window g^ass
And deluging on the roof^ as the Deyil were coming to pass " ;
The stable and its occupants, —
« Hnddlin' in the hameas-room,. by a little scrap o' fire,"
striving to keep up their spirits
'* A-practising for the choir " ;
while the old squire lay dying in the house, and the super-
stitions of their class and country fill them with a sense
of hovering evil, and make every sound and movement
ominous and terrible.
*' We could not hear Death's foot pass by, bat we knew that he was near;
And the chill rain, and the wind and cdd, made ns aU shake wi' fear."
This picture was complete. Then follows another, in
which the life of the old squire is lightly drawn fix>m the
huntsman's point of view, — a fair portrait of a fox-himt-
ing squire of the period, rounded with a sort of rough ten-
derness, and touching upon those points in his character
which would lead up naturally to the final catastrophe.
Meanwhile there has come a lull in the storm, the wind
has gone down, the rain ceases, —
"The moon was up quite glorions-like."
From this point the poem is one mad, wild rush to the
conclusion. Suddenly, in the hush of midnight, the rusty
turret-bell, which has not been heard for twenty years,
HER LIFE^ LETTEBSy AND MEM0BIE3. 225
dangs and clashes out, and, as they all hurry forth, the
dying master meets them face to face.
*' His scarlet ooat was on his back, and he looked like the old race."
In the deUrium of fever he orders out his horse, summons
his dogs. All obey him without question, for
" There was a deyil in his eye that wonld not let us speak,"
and he rides away on his last hunt, followed by the
amazed and horror-stricken servants. He rides to his
death, and the old servant says, —
**Vfe pulled up on Chalk Lynton HUl, and as we stood us there,
Two fields beyond we saw the ould squire fall stone dead from the
mare;
Then she swept on and, in ftdl ciy, the hounds went out of sight.
A cloud came oyer the broad moon, and something dimmed our sight,
As Tom and I bore master home, both speaking under breath.
And that 's the way I saw the ould squire ride boldly to his death."
This synopsis of the poem, which is an anonymous
one, may give to those who never heard it read a faint
glimpse of its capabilities as interpreted by Miss Cush-
man. In none of her readings was there a finer oppor-
tunity for her varied and versatile powers, in none such a
masterly mingling of the natural and the terrible, of the
simple and the sublime ; the whole heightened, instead of
injured, as is too often the case, by the use of dialect,
which with her was so dealt with as only to add a new
element of truthfulness and interest to the picture. This
may be said also with reference to any dialect which she
attempted. In her mouth it became natural and easy, and
never made any impression of incongruity. In Bums's
famous lines, for example, '' A Man 's a Man for a' That,"
who would recognize it without its capny Scotch accent,
or who would wish to hear it with that accent imperfectly
rendered ! The genuine, hearty enthusiasm with which
226 CHARLOTTE CIJSHMAK:
Miss Cuslunaii felt and delivered this noble, manly ntter-
ance, was positively infectious, and cairied her audience
by storm. Every man was more a man who listened to
it, and the better for that momentary lifting into a purer
and better air. The wondrously varied intonation which
she managed to impart to the refrain, ** For a' that, and a'
that," was not the least remarkable part of this remark-
able performance.
To the humorous readings, which wound up these pro-
grammes and sent everybody away the better and lighter
and happier for having been beguiled of a hearty laugh,
the same or even fuller meed of praise is due. In this,
as in aU she did, she touched " the high top-gallant " of
her powers ; into this, even more than into the rest, she
threw herself with that fiill completeness and self-aban-
don which was her great secret Of this class of subjects
I need only particularize a few : " Betsy and I are out,"
"Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question," "The Annuity,"
and " The Bapteesement o' the Bairn," though the two
latter might perhaps come more appropriately under the
head of "Dialect Poema" Of these, "Betsy and I are
out" was a pecuUar favorita From the moment she
begins slowly to draw off her gloves, and take the action
and attitude of the honest, tender-hearted, obstinate old
farmer, she seems to have a realizing sense of how such
a man would act and speak and look under the circum-
stancea She creates the lawyer sitting opposite. She
makes every one feel how they acted upon one another.
She projects the absent Betsy upon the field of our con-
sciousness. We know and see them all far more truly and
really, because more subtly, than if they lived before us.
This seems a paradox, and yet it touches a high truth.
Her conceptions were beyond reality, because they were
idealizations, which is the highest reality. There was
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 227
mucli more in this ballad in her hands than its writer
ever conceived of, as he himself acknowledged when he
came to see her on one of her Western journeys, and
thanked her for all she had done for him in her reading
of his lines. The same occurred with the authoress of
'' Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question.*' Mrs. Dodge
said, ** Miss Gushman, I never dreamed what was in it^
until I heard you read it*' And Miss Woolson, the
writer of "Kentucky Belle,** which was one of Miss
Cushman's most effective readings, wrote to her to the
same effect firom the South: —
''Last spring, while at St. Augustine, I received from New
York the programme of yomr Beading at the Academy of Mu-
sic, and was equally surprised and pleased to find among the
announcements ' Kentucky Belle.' Ever since, I have wished
to thank you for the honor, to tell you how much real pleas-
ure it gave me.
*' It was little to you, Miss Cushman, but a great deal to
me, and I thank you. It is not quite fomr years since I began
to write, and in that time nothing connected with the work
has given me so much pleasure as this."
She had, beside, many choice bits, not suitable in length
or scope for the platform, but reserved for a happy mo-
ment to enliven the social cirda Many of these she
kept in her pocket, and would produce on occasion, with
a gleeful twinkle in her eye which she soon transferred to
those of her listeners. She was indeed largely in sympa-
thy with jay, and whatever led to wit, and she fairly
revelled in the effects she produced, when she opened
this special door to her hearers' hearts, and saw and felt
her influence in their brightening faces. She may be
said to have been an opener of many doors into the inner-
most of human nature, bringing forth tears and smiles at
her pleasure, and weaving a spell which for the moment
228 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN.
at least brought all hearts to a higher level and touched
them as with fire from the altar of her own fervid spirit
Besides the readings which came under these various
heads^ were many miscellaneous and some religious ones.
These last she delivered with grand simplicity and fervor;
and it was her intention, had her life been spared, to make
of them a special feature in her programmes. I find in
one of her letters an allusion to a poem of this class,
which she read sometimes in private, and the effect of it
was much like her singing of sacred compositions.
" 0, if you knew," she writes, " what pleasure I have had in
reading aloud * The Celestial Country,' that grand old poem of
Bernard de Cluny, which is translated fix)m the Latin, and is
in that book you sent me at Christmas I It performed as
much work in its time as Luther's Reformation, only the one
was silent and the other outward. It is like a bell, which
rings and clangs and calls and cheers! I never read any-
thing like it."
In all the range of her readings, a noble simplicity and
directness of method, the absence of the faintest shadow
of affectation, and an artistic completeness of conception
and execution beyond praise, place these performances
on the highest level of contemporary art ; but above and
beyond all this there is a still greater excellence, a still
higher spiritual significance. An old Mend has well said
of her in certain reminiscences of her early life, ^'the
feet, never in fear or shame afraid to follow the dictate
of the heart"; so in her later years, not the feet only, but
the whole nature, went forth rich and strong in all its
varied manifestations, but always more earnestly, more
truly, more grandly, in the direction of the best and
highest.
CHAPTER XI.
LAST FIVE TEASS.
"He'i bill; nliant Out caatnlfiDlte."
Timtm qf Ati«nt.
" Nothing In U4 IUb baouns him lika tliB IstriDg of It"
r' vaa in the Hpring of 1869 that Miss Cush-
mao's Toaiadj first made its appearance. It
seemed trifling, and upon consnltAtion witli tJie
best physicians of Borne she was advised to go to certain
German baths, which -were said to be of great efficacy in
such disorders. Fearing delay, however, she determined
to go to Paris for further advice. There she was earnestly
recommended by Dr. Sims to do nothing, to live well,
take care of her general health, amuse herself, and foi^t
the trouble if possible. It is to be deeply regretted that
Uiis excellent advice could not have been followed ; but
it was impossible for her to sit still onder the thought
that she might be helped by quicker means to an entire
relief, and her remembrance tiiat it was an inheritance in
her family would not permit her to treat it lightly. Her
resource was always in action. She went over to Eng-
land and consulted Sir James Paget, then the highest
name in the profession. His opinion was decidedly in
favor of "heroic treatment" She, however, determined
to make one more efibrt to avoid this neceasily, and went
230 CHABLOITE CUSHMAN:
for a time to Malvern, where in connection with water-
tieatment she tried certain remedies which had been sug-
gested to her, with a view of dispersing the tumor. This,
however, proved useless, and on the 18th of August she
went to Edinburgh, to place herself under the care of Sir
James Simpson, whom she knew well, and for whom she
had a great esteem. He, in connection with Dr. Spence,
the head of the Boyal College of Surgeons, decided upon
an operation, and this sad and painful event took place
on the 26th.
It was appcu^ntly very successful, but was speedily
followed by a series of very dangerous complications, and
for a time Miss Cushman seemed to hover between life
and death. Finally, however, her good constitution and
cttreful nursing brought her round; she rallied, and it
was supposed and believed that the danger was effectually
removed.
Toward the end of October she was sufficiently re-
stored to be enabled to leave Edinburgh, and after a short
stay at Malvern, for general restorative treatment, to start
again for Bome on the 23d of November ; but she was
weakened generally by the long and serious illness, and
in the course of the winter it became evident that the
evil was not entirely eradicated.
In the spring of 1870 the trouble again made its ap-
pearance. She left Rome on May 23d, going by way of
Venice and Munich to Paris, and from thence to England,
where she again consulted Paget, and with some difficulty
got his consent to further efforts for relief by another
process of "heroic treatment," severer and more painful
than the first, but less dangerous, namely, excision by
caustic. This terrible process she underwent with her
usual firm courage at Hampstead, at the house of dear
and valued Mends, during the month of June. For a
H£B LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 231
time this also was supposed to be successful; healing
took place lapidlj, her general health improved, and all
seemed going on well She went again to Malvern ; but
''the snake was only scotched, not killed/' and the return
of unfavorable symptoms induced her to make up her
mind to return finally to America.
On the 22d of October, 1870, Miss Cushman sailed
from Liverpool in the Scotia, on her last voyage to Amer-
ica. The Boman home was abandoned to the tender
mercies of tenants. All knew, though no one ever said
so, that they might never see it agaux It was not until
1874 that it was finally broken up, and all its artistic
contents transported to this country. These were so
many and various, that it has only been since her death
they have all been opened and distributed, and this only
through a large addition having been made to the Villa,
which before this could not contain them all The Villa
is now a most interesting and valuable record of her career,
full of associations and remembrances, and held sacredly
and reverently as such in the hearts of its present pos-
sessors. It is her real monument, which she herself
created and adorned, where she yet speaks the noble
lessons of her life through the subtle spiritual essence
which breathes from every object she knew and loved.
It is as sadly full of her now as it was when her sweet
presence filled it with light and joy, and the potent force
of her great personality pervades every material object
with a strength which only such Uving presence as hers
could leave behind.
The monument in contemplation at Mount Auburn,
which only imavoidable circumstances has delayed, will
be but an expression to the world at large of a great soul
departed ; but to the hearts of those who knew her in the
genial and loving atmosphere of her home, the Villa must
be her best monument
232 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
She came home to America to make a last stn^le for
her life, and, failing that hope, to make what remained
of it as useful and valuable to herself and others as lay
within the bounds of her possibilities. It has been al*
ready shown how thoroughly she carried out this deter-
mination. The progress of her fatal malady, though sure,
was slow. She had an originally powerful constitution
and a most indomitable courage to fall back upon, and
these sustained her almost to the last moment The
mere record of what she accomplished during these last
years would seem incredible, and did indeed lead many
to the belief that no serious ailment could exist In
spite of themselves, it also buoyed up the hopes of those
surrounding her ; it almost seemed as if a miracle might
be wrought in favor of one who knew how to hold and
use life with such power, who seemed as it were to defy
the ordinary conditions of humanity. Very few who saw
Miss Cushman act, or heard her read, during these years
could at all realize her condition, she rose so entirely
above and beyond it ; and yet it was such that no medi-
cal authority would venture upon any hopeful auguries.
To lengthen life as long as possible by careful living and
judicious treatment was the utmost to be attained, and
for a long time the disease seemed to be held in abey-
ance by these means. She always r^retted that she
gave up this generous system of treatment for hope of
benefit from the water-cure, which was much urged
upon her by friends, one of the first requisites of which
is to lower the system. These matters are, however,
beyond the scope of discussion here; in some respects
she did derive benefit &om the water-cure, and who can
teU how much it may not have saved her of suffering ?
At any rate, with her usual firmness, having undertaken
it, she gave it a fair trial She was not one to siirrender
H£B LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEHOBIEa 233
80 long as there remamed even a faint hope of help ; and
for the sake of all who loved her she never remitted her
efforts, and tried to cherish hope for herself, as well
knowing how her despair would darken and depress
their lives. So, as I have said, perhaps too often in this
memoir, in this also she gave herself for others ; she lived
to the veiy utmost, that they might not despair; and it
was a daily and hourly study, amid aU that she had to
contend with of pain and discouragement, to see and feel
how truly she lived up to this thought, never, or rarely,
descending into the inevitable depths which belong to our
human nature, and from which not even the strongest can
wholly escape. So powerful and so sustaining was this
attitude on her part, that when she for a moment gave
way, the world seemed to be coming to an end, to the
faithful and devoted group who ministered to her ; and
when the sad moment of surrender at last came, it struck
them aU with the suddenness of a blow which had been
slowly gathering force during six years of suspense,
anxiety, and intense tension of soul and body.
The record of Miss Cushman's achievements during
these last years is simply marvellous when we consider
her rapid movements from place to place, the miles of
railway travel she undertook, and the amount of work
she performed under conditions so unfavorable. It was
a grand, and yet a painful contemplation ; for she threw
herself into it with a steady and persistent purpose,
knowing well that such an amount of overwork must
wear out her forces sooner, yet content that the machine
should wear rather than rust out, and finding in the
exercise of her powers a satisfaction and content which
seemed to more than repay her for the effort
The autumn and winter of 1870 she passed in va-
rious places, trying what help might come from her native
234 CHABLOTTB CU8HMAN:
air ; up to the 11th of Januaiy she was at Hyde Park,
on the Hudson, enjoying immensely the winter in the
country, and taking long walks and drives^ full of appar-
ant strength and energy. She went also to Newport, with
a view of trying that climate as a winter residence, having
heard that it was milder than other places, and in many
respects like the climate of England. It was after this
visit she conceived the idea of building there ; and she
shortly entered into negotiations for the purchase of a
site, and the erection of the home now so well known and
so much admired. Her subsequent determination to work
the better part of the year left it often tenantless ; but
she returned to it whenever she could, even for a time,
with delight, and had much comfort and satisfaction in
it, practising there, as everywhere, the pleasant duties of
hospitality to its utmost capacity.
In one of her letters of this year, speaking of her state,
she writes: —
'' I am waiting ; seeking all simple aids that can palliate
my trouble ; avoiding all things that can fatigue me ; leading,
for the most part and for the first time in my life, an idU
existence. But I hope, with God's help, not a useless one for
all that ; for in trying to train myself to patience perhaps I
am helping those who love me and suffer with me."
Shortly after, speaking of her Newport home, she
says: —
^ My house is pretty, and much admired ; it is comfortable ;
but I am not going to test its merits this winter, for my doc-
tor wishes me to work again, as he considers that change of
scene, air, and occupation are desirable for me. I leave my
home early in the autumn, to wander for a couple of months,
not far away from it, and in the New England towns. Early
in December I go to the West for a couple of months, and
then perhaps to the South for a couple more, after which, if
H£B LIFE^ LETTEBS, AKD MXMOBIES. 236
all goes well with me, I may undertake the journey to Cali-
fornia. Tou see I must be pretty well, or I should be unable
to look forward with such a hopeful soul to suoh work and
change as I do."
In pursuance of these projects, we find her busy in
various places. On December 22d we have a pleasant
letter from Brattleborough, Vermont.
'' Tou will hold up your hands in wonder when you see
where I am, and know of the cold, cold weather, — thermome-
ter 10^ below zero 1 I assure you I am amazed at myself; but
while the weather in Boston was in a mild and serene state,
they made application to me to come up here for a reading.
I was stupid or sanguine (they both mean the same thing
when one acts without calculation) enough to forget that
Christmas of 1871 might be colder than Christmas of 1870, and
made the engagement to come here on the 22d ; and so, though
my reading at Providence on Monday gave me a tasfce of Nova
Zembla, and my journey of Tuesday to New Hayen increased
my knowledge of po$nlnl%He8f which Wednesday night's experi-
ence at the Music Hall at New Hayen ripened into shivering
certainties, yet I was not prepared for yesterday's journey.
Arrived earlier than I was expected by a day, for I had not
had time to give warning ; of course I had to come up in
the village sleigh, a one-story house on runners, with the win-
dows too high to see out oH I felt as if I was an exile on my
way to Siberia, in the prisoner's van or 'black Maria.' I
found my manager was an apothecary, and in the midst of a
prescription when I drove up. He rushed out, covered with
confusion as with a garment, making many apologies for not
having been waiting for me. (How could he, when he did not
know I would be so rash as to take one day for travelling and
another for reading? Beaders and lecturers are generally
more economical of time and tneans,) He directed the driver
what to do with me, and he landed us at the Park House, a
summer house, where we are the only visitors ! We are oppo-
236 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
site the Park, on what seems to be the main road out of the
Tillage, and opposite us, on the other side, also facing the
Park, stands the ' Insane Asylum.' When thej pointed out
this building to me with some pride, I exclaimed, * Ah, that
is the house I ought to haye been taken to.' The good simple
people, not understanding the poor little ' bit of wit, picked
out of a pro&ne stage play,' turned and looked at me with a
strange sort of inquiring wonder, that was perfectly refresh*
ing after Boston and its realisms and realities! Well, the
master of the house, after hearing what I wanted for supper,
jumped into a sleigh and rushed (2.30) down to the village^
and brought me back a steak worthy of Paris and Souchong
tea worthy of London. We were yery tired and parched and
frozen, and by the time it was ready we were thawed out and
able to thoroughly ei\joy it Then I was too tired for any-
thing but bed ; had forty blankets and a good fire ; but in the
night the fire went out> the blankets lost their power, and I
did not dare to put my hand out of bed to pull up the other
forty blankets which Sallie's proyident care had piled up at
the side of me. But morning came, and with it a woman
whose activity and briskness made the blood jump in me, and
I was warm before the fire was made. And now here I am,
writing this to you in bed, where I haye had my breakfast,
and within three feet of a stoye ! You will want to hear
something about my readings. When I tell you that E
was in a state of ' wonder, loye, and praise,' you will believe I
read welL She said, ' You walked up on to the platform as if
you had never done anything else in all your life, and had de-
voted your whole mind to it.' Sallie said, ' I expected nothing
but to see you die at the end ; it was so perfect.' *
'' I leave here at 8.40 for Springfield ; then to Albany ; and
from there to Hyde Park, for a rest. On the 3d Jantiary I
get back to Boston, for readings on the 4th, 6th, and 8th."
It was not until September, 1871, that she made her
* Thia was the first reading at Providence, to which she is alluding.
HEB UFE, LETTERS, AlO) MEMORIES. 237
first engagement to act at Booth's Theatre, New York.
The newspaper notices of the time speak of this return
to the stage in a tone of respect, almost of reverence, most
unusual with the free lances of the press. All seemed to
feel that it was that brightening up of the flame which
precedes its final extinction.
The engagement was a highly successful one * and was
followed by another in Boston.+ It was during this
yisit that the honor was paid her of naming the public
school which had been erected on the site of her birth-
place "The Cushman School," and a very interesting
ceremony took place on the occasion, which will per-
haps be best described in her own words. In a letter
to a friend in England, dated December 31, 1871, she
writes: —
''Tour letter should have been acknowledged long ere this,
but I have been the very busiest and hardest worked human
being you ever knew for these last thirteen weeks. I do not
remember even in my youngest days ever to have accomplished
so much, for then I had only my profession, and no society
* The receipts for forty- two nights amoimtiiig to $ 57,000.
t A fHend writes of this Boston engagement : ** I can only teU 3ron,
what you no donbt hear from other quarters, that she is perfectly spleti^
did, and seems to find only strength in the fatigues of her profession. It
is hard to believe that there is anything wrong with her, seeing how she
looks now, after all she has done lately. Last night, after two perform-
ances of Macbeth (afternoon and evening), I went behind the scenes to
her dressing-room, on my way walking behind poor Macbeth, who had
just come off from his dying scene, and a more dilapidated object it
would be hard to find, — stumbling, tottering, and groaning, like a rheu-
matic old woman, while she I found almost as bright and cheery as if she
had done nothing more than usuaL But 'she is alone the queen of
earthly queens.' M says she is Pope now, crowned with the triple
crown of excellence in her three parts. AU this, no doubt, the stoiy of her
great success in Boston, wiU be no news to you ; but I am sure you can
never hear too much of her good health and good condition.'
ft
238 CHABLOTTB OUBHMAN :
duty to attend to as welL I have been hard at work, bodilj,
mentally, socially, and not, I hope, worthlessly. If you haye
seen any of the New York papers fix>m about the 26th Sep-
tember and 17th October to 29th of the same, you would haye
seen that my country-people giye me credit for growth in
grace, and believe now firmly that they haye a Siddons of their
own I Of course it is not displeasing to me to be so considered,
but / hum better I I dare say I haye grown intellectually, and
my suffering has been sent to me in yain if I haye not im*
proyed in spirit during all the time I haye been away from my
profession ; but as a mere actress, I was as good, if not better,
eleyen years ago than I am now. But what is printed liyes
for us, and what is conoeiyed and acted liyes only in the
memory of the beholder; thus I am glad that such things
should be printed of me. I do not think it has hurt me
physically to work. While the recognition has done my soul
and spirit good, I feel that I haye not labored in yain. Then,
after New York, when I went to my natiye city, Boston, where
they neyer belieyed in me so much as they did elsewhere, I
came to haye such praise as made my heart satisfied, and they
indorsed their good opinions in a substantial way, which was
also good. The City Council paid me a great honor in formally
announcing to the world that one of their chief boasts, their
public school system, should be associated with my name^
by enacting that henceforth and foreyer the school building
which had been erected on the site where stood the house in
which I was bom was to be known as the Cushman School,
This from old Puritan stock, which belieyes that the public
school is the throne of the state, was a greater honor than any
I could haye receiyed from them. I was proud, first, that I
as an actress had won it; then, secondly, that for the first
time this had been bestowed upon a woman ; and then came
the ciyic pride, in knowing that my townspeople should care
that I was oyer bom. Nothing in all my life has so pleased
me as this."
The ceremonies were simple and impressiye. The chil-
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 239
dren sang, and presented flowers. Speeches were made,
to which Miss Cnshman responded in her usual hearty
manner, and from her usual text, — impressing upon her
youthful hearers the value of earnestness of purpose, and
the need to give themselves up to any work they had
to do, whether of business or kindness, of sympathy or
obedience." She then read to them "After Blenheim,"
by Southey, and other selections.
The following letter, by an eye-witness of the proceed-
ings on this occasion, may not be iminteresting.
'' In the old, historic part of Boston, dose by the chime
of bells giyen to the American colonists by King George,
under the Tigilant eye of the old cockerel, there stood, in
1816, a 'rough cast' house. Here, amid the summer heats,
was bom, of stem Puritan stock, a blue-eyed girl who after-
wards, single-handed, fought her way to an eminence where
she stood a queen, her royal ri^t unchallenged 1 Boston
proudly boasts that her day and generation had not Charlotte
Cushman's equal In 1867 the old house was torn down,
and in its place was built a handsome brick school-house.
For five years it had no name; then — happy thought I —
a member of the school board proposed it should be called
The ' Cusbman School,' in honor of the celebrated actress.
Some of the old conservatiTes were startled into a mild re-
monstrance. A public building named, forsooth, for a wmant
What matter that it was a girls' school, and women only for
teachers I Fortunately there was no mayor who must be
flattered with an educational namesake; so the vote was
carried, and to-day a woman's name is graven in letters of
granite upon its hf^gsA^. On the fifth day of January, 1872,
Miss Cushman made a tour of the building, gracing each room
with her presence. Then all were assembled in the hall for
a dedicatory serTice. On the floor were seated the pupils, a
thousand girls ; on the platform, teachers and visitors; and in
the centre^ Miss Cushman. Here she made her 'maiden speech,'
240 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK :
as she smilingly said. Those upturned girlish faces were all
the inspiration she needed, and a flush of enthusiasm gathered
on her pale fiuse. For their encouragement she told them
she walked those very streets, a school-girl as poor as the
poorest among them. With rapid gestures of her laige,
shapely hands, her eyes glowing with the fire of her own pe-
culiar genius and her habitual intensity, she told them that
whatever she had attained had been by giving herself to her
toorh A patience that tired not, an energy that faltered not,
a persistence that knew no flagging, principles that swerved
not, and the victory was hers, after long years of hard wof^
Higher than her intellectual strength, higher than her culture
or genius or graces of character, she ranked her ability for
vfcrh This was the secret of her success, and the legacy she
bequeathed the girls of the Cushman SchooL They knew
something of her history ; that she had educated herself;
that she had stoutly resisted the shafts of disease ; that the
great men of the age delighted to do her honor ; that she was
an earnest, religious woman, upon whose fair name rested no
shadow of suspicion. They felt the soft womanliness of her
character shining out fix>m the mi^esty of strength, and who
can say how many impulses
' To dare and do and be '
were bom there t
<< Among the honored visitors who pressed round after the
exercises were over was a slender, dark-eyed woman, principal
of a well-known seminary about twenty miles from Boston,
a woman whom hundreds have risen up and called blessed.
She had been thrilled by Miss Cushman's words, and with an
impulsive earnestness, so characteristic, said, as she was in-
troduced : ' I wish you might live a hundred years and see
the seed you have to-day planted spring up and ripen a hun-
dred-fold.' The reply flashed back quick and strong, ^Mad-
am, I wish I might, that I could do more and do it better ! '
As the two women, each eminent and successful in her chosen
sphere, clasped hands and looked in each other's &ce one
HEB LIFE, LETTSSS, AND HEMOBIES. 241
brief minute, they recognized a fellowship of soul, a kinship
of purpose.
*' Goethe said, ' On some &oes there is only a date, on oth-
ers a histoiy 1 ' Much of conflict and yiotoiy was chiselled
on Charlotte Cushman's &ce. None of us refuse ' Glory to
God in the highest,' few but wish ' peace on earth,' but she
had surely learned 'good will toward men ' ; and these three
chords of that angelic choir, which nearly two thousand years
ago sang ' o'er the blue hills of Galilee,' had turned the ele-
ments of her character into harmonious beauty."
Among many newspaper notices of this period (1871) I
select a few, which, as expressing the univeisal opinion
of the time, are worthy of preservation here. Her first
appearance at Booth's, in Queen Eathaiine, is thus al-
luded to by the Tribune : —
** The enthusiastic reception which Ifiss Cushman received
on Monday night must convince her how dear she is to the
public, and with what profound regret her departure from the
stage is viewed by all the lovers of dramatic art Not to many
women is it given to arouse our admiration ; to fewer is it
granted to gain our respect and gratitude. Miss Cushman
can pronounce the sad word * fiurewell,' with the honest and
proud conviction that her name will live in the annals of the
drama as one that was ever associated with all that is noble
and pure. To her we owe a special debt of gratitude, in that
she has ever been true to her art in spite of difficulty, f^roocA,
and suffering."
Another notice alludes to her reception as full of re-
spectful enthusiasm, tempered with regret : —
'* She acted with remarkable strength and fire. That she
would bring back to the stage her old earnestness and subtlety,
her unique command of all the resources of her art, and her
keen appreciation of the text, enriching even the spaces be-
tween the lines with wonderful suggestiveness of look and
242 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
gesture, we quite expected. But last night she did mora
She threw into her performance a vigor and intensity not in-
ferior, as we remember them, to those characteristics in her
best days. Miss Oushman is beginning to feel the approach
of age, and physically, perhaps, she is not equal to her former
8el£ But weakness, if it exists, is more than atoned for by
the splendor of her intelligence, her scholarly and refined
elocution, the pathos, the simplicity, the effectiveness of her
action. It is one thing to play a queen's part, it is another
thing to look like a queen. We wish some of the young ladies
who think themselves tragic actresses, and who trust to their
pretty faces and elaborate toilets for success, would take
lessons from the carriage of Miss Cushman. She, at least,
derived no aid from the magnificence of dress, or from pei>
Bonal beauty ; but there was a royalty in her demeanor, a con-
sciousness of power in her every movement, which made ker
the one figure of interest on the stage."
One more extract will suffice.
*^ The announcement that this will be Miss Cushman*s clos-
ing engagement will cause many a pang of regret, that this
great actress, this unequalled reader, most thorough artist,
and noble lady, is to be seen no more upon the stage she has
graced with her presence so long. Her life, which has not
even now ' fallen into the sere and yellow leaf,' is one that can
be set forth as a bright example of what energy, intelligence,
virtue, and independence of character can accomplish. Women
on the stage nowadays owe much of their popularity to their
beauty. Miss Cushman never was beautiful, except in that
beauty and nobility of character which shines through her
face and irradiates it with a strange gloiy of truthfulness, of
honor, and of refinement.
'^ The special glory of Miss Cushman's final representations
has been that they bore evidence of enlarged thought and cul-
ture without losing any of their old efficiency. She came back
to say adieu in her old strenuous way, after a lifetime spent
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AKD MEMOBIES. 243
in the seirice of the drama, and she wins us again, not by a
renewal of her old powers, but by the disclosure of new ones.
It was impossible not to see that she had broader views of
human nature, and had obtained a deeper insight into its
secrete ; that her sensibilities were as keen as oyer, but that
her judgment was matured ; in a word, that she was none the
less the great actress, but more than ever the finished artist
" Let us not fail to make fitting record of this before the
priestess of an almost deserted temple passes out of our sight
forever ; no nobler record can we well make, and none that
will carry so valuable a lesson to those neophytes who may
hereafter minister in the same temple. Standing at this mo-
ment before her countrymen, the recipient of honors that are
now, alas ! rare in her profession, recognized as a representa-
tive artist, let us not forget that the greatest boon she has
conferred upon the American stage is her demonstration that
it is possible to combine genius and culture, goodness and
greatness."
Miss Cushman spent the Christmas of this year (1871)
at Hyde Park, and was very happy and merry in spite of
her physical ills. She enjoyed the country at all seasons,
and never felt a moment's ennui or weariness, although
at that season there was no social life but what the four
walls and the family circle afforded her. She occupied
herself in preparing her readings, took long walks and
drives, and was apparently well and strong, though always
conscious of her " enemy," as she called her ailment On
the 15th of January, 1872, she started on her Western tour,
and passed the months of March, April, and May read-
ing and acting in various places. On the 3d and 4th of
April she gave two very successful readings in Philadel-
phia, and on the 7th she made a visit to her Mend Mr.
William B. Ogden, at his well-known country-seat in the
neighborhood of New York. It was not until June 10
244 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAK:
that she took possession of her villa at Newport, which
had been built during her absence. She concluded her
season of work by giving a reading for the benefit of the
Newport Hospital, on August 20 ; and on the 23d she
read for the Protestant Episcopal Chapel at Nariagan-
sett
The reading which Miss Cushman gave at Nairagansett
deserves a more particular mention. She went over early
on the day appointed (a lovely morning in August), accom-
panied by a party of fiiends, and was received with great
distinction by the lady under whose auspices the reading
had been inaugurated, Mrs. W. B. Eichards of Boston,
and the numerous summer visitors of the hotels which
stand all along the shore of Narragansett Bay. The read-
ing took place in the chapel for the benefit of which it
was intended, and was a very successful affair. Towards
evening a large assembly of admiring and grateful friends
accompanied her to the landing, and the little steamer
sailed away upon the summer sea amid cheers and waving
of handkerchiefs. It was one of those wonderful evenings
of which Newport only is capable : a sunset of imexam-
pled glory illuminated the sea and touched with points
of fire the distant buildings and the nearer islands ; a calm
serenity, as of a good deed happily accomplished, filled
the air and gently touched all hearts. It was an evening
which all those who shared its sweetness will long re-
member.
On the occasion of the reading for the benefit of the
Newport Hospital a proposition was made to Miss Cush-
man, by one of the wealthy and fashionable summer resi-
dents, that she should give the reading at her house, which
was freely placed at Miss Cushman's disposal She de-
clined the proposition, on the ground that as she was
reading for the benefit of the people of Newport, she pre-
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HER LIFE, LETTEBS^ AND MEMOBIEa 245
ferred to do so in a place to which thejmight more freely
come ; and she therefore gave it in the town itself. It
was a very successful effort, notwithstanding that the peo-
ple for whom she made it had not public spirit enough
to avail themselves as folly as might have been expected
of her kindly thoughtfulness.
After October 11th follows a long season of acting and
reading in all parts of the country. She was acting in
Boston at the time of the great fire, and her engagement
was interrupted by that calamity. On December 5th
she again went West, arriving on the 14th of January
in New Orleans, having engaged to act with Mr. Law-
rence Barrett's company there and in other Southern
cities. This was a most disastrous experience. After act-
ing a week in New Orleans she was taken seriously ill,
and, notwithstanding every effort and struggle on her
part to keep her engagements, found herself compelled to
abandon them. From Montgomery she started, still very
weak and ill, with recurring chills and fever, to make the
best of her way to Philadelphia and her good doctor
there. The journey was a terrible one ; owing to the sea-
son, and want of proper information as to the route, she
encountered every kind of discomfort; missing connec-
tions and obliged to stop over at the most Grod-forsaken
places, unable to procure suitable food, and obliged, when
she did move, to take the poorest kind of accommodation.
At length, on the 12th of February she arrived, much
prostrated, in Philadelphia, and remained there under
the doctor's care until the 1st of March, when she was
sufl&ciently recovered to recommence work at Washing-
ton. Following this, she moved with her usual rapidity
from point to point, reading, acting, and visiting in various
places.
From a series of letters written during the years
246 CHAJILOTTB CU8HBIAN:
1872-74 I make some brief extracts, which show where
and how she was at those dates, and cany on the rec-
ord in the best way, namely, from her own lips. Her
life was too full for her letters to be much more than
brief memoranda of the facts of each day, written to re-
lieve the anxiety of friends at a distance ; but interesting,
as all letters from people of marked character must ever
be. Her summer had been spent mostly at Newport, in
the midst of her family. On September 28th she writes
from there, speaking of the departure of the children and
the break-up of her home for the summer.
'* I do not get over my dreadful depression and sickness of
heart, and I cannot reason myself out of it. I suppose it is
that I am weaker than ever before, and the summer has been
a greater strain upon me than I knew, until the reaction came.
I have had much trial this summer, more than any one knows.
First, the excitement of getting into the house, then the heat,
the arrival of the things from Rome, and the sickness of soul
over the memories that were awakened at the sight of them ;
but most of all, the wrench I had at last in the departure of
my children, the breaking up and being left alone. I have
been very lonely. This is a confession of weakness ; but
enough of myself."
From Swampscott, one of her favorite places, she writes
to a friend : —
"Your dear spirit is all around me in this sweet place, and
I seem to be sure that I shall find you in your own room if I
go out and return ; but, alas ! I shall not see you yntil a fort-
night from this day, when we will have 2^ jubilation^ won't wel
I had a tremendous success in my reading yesterday. Phillips
Brooks says it is the most wonderful * growth^ since last year,
and many others say the same. George Macdonald and his
wife were so enthusiastic that when you know the quiet people
that they are it will seem wonderful He speaks of me in his
H£B LDTE, LETTERS, AND MEMOBIES. 2^
lecture on Burns, where he repeats some lines, and says, * If
I had mj friend Miss Cushman here to read it to you, she
would show you much more meaning in it than / can.' Fields
also refers to me in his ' Masters of the Situation.' So you see
I am getting spoiled. I read the * Skeleton in Armor ' wdL^
and the effect was fine. I made the ' fearful guest ' speak in
monotone, like the ghost in * Hamlet,' and you cannot think
how strange and weird it sounded. Tou could hear a pin
drop in that vast hall, which, after all, is a most awful place
to speak in. I was tired, but not so much so as I expected.
* Ivry ' brought down the house at every verse, and our good
friend here says he don't believe any other woman, or man,
could give the ' Hurrah i ' with ma So much for all that part
of me ; the other home part of me hurried away from the hall
as fast as the ' dear five hundred friends,' who came to the
artists' room to speak to me and thank me, would permit, glad
to get back to my dear hostess, who is the soul of goodnesa^
and 'just adores me.' "
With reference to the above reading a friend writes
to Miss Cushman one of those little tokens which more
clearly than anything else give thefediTig her eflforts at
this time were eliciting from her friends and the public.
''DsARFRiBin): Let me tell you of the entire and perfect suc-
cess of your last evening's reading. My most critical judgment
could not pick a flaw in you or your work. You looked and
did superbly. It is to the praise of modem things that in
your half-dozen selections you could gather up such sweet and
noble sentiment ; and that you could succeed, either in getting
out of it or putting into it, such exquisite shadings of thought
and feeling, seemed to everybody simply wonderful. I was
never among a more impressed and delighted audience ; a
sense of awe, half of afiright, oppressed me, that one personality
could hold and exactly express so many and varied individuals.
Even now, after a night's sleep, when you came to me once
and again, I have still that vague shadowy sense as of some-
248 CHABLOTTE CUSHHAir :
thing Bupematural about me. Who shall say how superhuman
are the human capabilities ! Well, dear, I am glad of a noble
woman in the world."
I find the following chaiacteiistic bit in one of her own
letters of June 6th : —
'' I am so sorry to hear that your mother has dropped down
again. She was very likely to do so in the quiet of the countiy.
She requires a peculiar kind of entertainment^ just the kind
that 'so poor a man as Hamlet is ' can give her, — a mixture
of rattle, nonsense, and sympathy ; in hci, you will have to
keep an adar for her (priyate), and M must leam to endure
the presence of such for her saka You will be able to trace
almost daily my stages of being and doing by my tone in
writing. I am too bom a demonstrator to hide anything.
'They tell alL'"
Under date of June 26tli she writes discouragingly of
herself: —
** I do get so dreadfully depressed about myself, and all
things seem so hopeless to me at those times, that I pray God
to take me quickly at any moment, so that I am not allowed
to torture those I love by letting them see my pain. But when
the dark hour passes, and I tiy to forget by constant ocoupa-
pation that I have such a load near my heart, then it is not
so bad."
In July she writes : —
'' I am being pursued by managers, and have promised, if ^
/ am entirely able^ and not otherwise, to act in New York for
four weeks, commencing the 12th of January ; and if the produc-
tion of ' Guy Mannering ' on a grand scale should be successful,
I have said I would not interfere with it by going elsewhere.
So from January to February I shall be in New York tame-
vfkere. But I can promise nothing absolutely, for I am not
well, and I suppose I shall not work any more. Still, it gives
H£B LIFE, LETTERS, AIQ) MEMORIES. 249
me something to think oC I most tell yon of a funny thing
that occurred the other day. A friend had heard of a pair of
horses which he wanted me to buy, but when he wrote for them
they were sold. He told me yesterday that the man said, ' Miss
Cushman ought to have had them, for they were named Edwin
Booth and Charles Fechter.' I should have declined such a
pair, as not likely to work well together ! "
Speaking of a certain theatrical d^biit about this time,
she says : '' These women don't know what they want, but
like to try everything, to prove how easy it is!'*
The letters of this time constantly end with the prayer,
''Ah, I pray Gk)d in his infinite mercy to take me quickly,
that I may not wear out those who love me I ** And to
the friend to whom she vmtes daily, who is laboring under
a heavy trial, she says : —
** God bless you and help you in all ways to bear, to endure,
and be patient This is the best prayer I can make for you,
and it covers all the ground of a life. From my soul I make
it a hundred times a day ; but prayers are all I can give you
to help you. I am not able to come to give you comfort and
strength by my presence."
She was at this time exercising the duties of hospitality
to a large indoor and outdoor ciicla Her brother and her
niece had come over from England, and the Villa was
stretched to its utmost capacity to hold and entertain the
friends whom it was her chief pleasure to draw about her.
She never thought of want of room ; the impulse towards
kindness came first, the ways and means of executing it
followed ; and it was amazing, and not a little amusing,
to see the shifts to which she resorted rather than disap-
point or delay the proposed visit of a friend. She used
to say, " This is Liberty Hall ; every one does as / pleasa''
And, indeed, the homelike, genial atmosphere she created
250 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
about her made eveiy one content and happy in the
narrowest quarters.
She was at this time singing sometimes the sacred songs
of (jounod, and enjoying them herself in the enjoyment of
others. Speaking of one of these, '' There is a Green Hill
far Away," she writes : —
** I cannot give you an idea of its beauty, for the accompani-
ments are truly splendid, and our friend D so enjoys my
singing it that he plays it beautifully. I wind them up some-
times with ' Father MoUoy,' and they go o£f to bed very happy
and merry."
Other letters of this time are not so bright and hopeful
She is suffering more, and feels the weight of care and
responsibility in so large a household and such abound-
ing hospitality.
'' I am subject to many interruptions^" she writes, '^ from
all directions, and so get confused and worried. I sometimes
find myself wishing I had no house, and all who have ' a place
of their own ' will find in time they are likely to repent taking
such care upon themselves, and I wish * Bailie Nicol Jarvie's
boots had been full of hot water before he had entered on sic
a damnable errand ! '
" The casino is going on this year, just opposite, and twice
a week the band plays and the carriages congregate around
and in front of this house, and the sound of music and voices
reaches me through my house, and to my writing-table. I
have not been ; when I can go in a calico gown, and take my
sewing, I will go. I don't think I will go before. I have not
yet thought what sewing it will be ; if it were soHSO-ing I could
go any day, for that is my usual occupation."
Among her visitors at this time were her friends John
Gilbert and his wife, and she thus speaks of the pleasure
their visit afforded her : —
" August Wik, — I spent a perfectly indolent day yesterday ;
HEB LIFEi LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 251
that IB, if indolence can be where one is busy all the time with
reminiscences and talks of old friends and old times, and later
times and later people. I talked more yesterday than I haye
talked in a fortnight, and yet I was not tired. What makes
the difference ) Some people tire me to death eyen when I
don't talk myself; others don't tire me when I do all the
talking. Is it that I love the sound of my own yoice, and am
vain and conceited t If so, why don't I talk to the others, and
find pleasure in my own voice t No ; it seems to me that some
people are sympathetic, and that others, however kind and
good they may be, are not so. Now on Saturday John Gil-
bert and his wife came ; and although I sigh when people get
out at the door, yet I was very pleased to see this old friend
of my childhood, who has been in feeling like a brother to me
ever since I was little ; even though we have had no association
for years, yet we always meet just where we left off, and are
always happy when we are talking to each other. Yesterday
I went to a luncheon-party. It was pleasant, and of course
/ acted hardf as I always do ; but everybody seemed pleased
with me, and they were all very agreeable people. There were
ten of us, and we made a great noise, which they say is a good
sign for fun, but not so much for convention. I cannot let
people be conventional where I am, for I don't know how, and
wh^ I go to play with people, they must play my way ; is it
not so 1 And this is the only thing I will admit I am dogmatic
in. Of course I was good for nothing when I came home ;
had to go to bed at once ; but later I did a portion of * Mid-
summer Night's Dream ' with John, and he says I am awfuUy
funny in Bottom. We shall see.''
On the 25th of August she left Newport for change of
air, the climate of that place being unfavorable for her
during the muggy heats and fogs of August, and spent a
delightful week in exploring the recesses of the Catskill
range under the convoy of Mr. William B. Ogden, who,
being a native of that locality, made the excursion very
pleasant with his memories and leminiscencea They trav-
252 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
elled short distances each day by carriage, stopping each
night at some one of the pleasant towns which lie all along
the course of the Delaware Eiver. She was as usual
waimlj interested in all she saw and heard ; the country
was lovely, and the long hours' driving in the open air
helped and strengthened her mucL
September waj3 passed chiefly at Newport, and it was
not until October that she started on her Western journey,
in better general health than she had been during the
summer, and, from the tone of her letters, in excellent
spirits also. She began acting in Chicago on the 13th
October, following up at Bochester, Cleveland, Toledo,
Detroit, Buffalo, and Boston.
These letters of 1873-74, written under all the
pressure of steady work and perpetual travel, are wonder-
ful evidences of her remarkable physical powers, as well
as of the bright sunshiny nature which could not be long
lowered or depressed by outer circumstances. They have
not a morbid note in them. If a trial or a pain comes, it
is told frankly, but always with some hopeful comment
or some comforting bit of philosophy. Writing fix)m El-
mira, she says : —
** In Utica, on Monday, I thought I should be blown away ;
the wind blew like 'cinque oenti diavoli,' as they say in Italy.
I am glad you think I did right in the way I have given up
my summer. I did it unselfishly, and so it has gone welL
I never think much of what I do for my oum; Ood gave them
to me and me to them just for that purpose, and I am simply
doing my duty to help them to health and happiness if I can.
Thus you say comforting things when you say I have done
w^exi. • . • .
'* Tea, you are right ; little people are conceited, some big
people, too, sometimes, but little people alwayB, If you could
have seen three people with whom I dined on Sunday, three
HEB UFB, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 253
of the littlest people yoa ever saw, and three such conceits !
I sat damb in wonderment, and they all talked, and toaM
talk. This sort must, you know, even if no one understands
or cares for what they are saying."
On November 16th she writes : —
*' I was in a sort of trap at Springfield, Ohio ; could not get
out, or make sure connection anywhere, unless I went in a
eaboote ear on a freight train from Springfield to Urbana. I
had to start at nine o'clock ; of course starting at nine makes
me out of bed at seven. The horror of being left at this place
was so great, that I kept waking all night, and asking Sallie
what time it was, for fear she should oversleep herself. At
seven I was up and, marvellous to relate, dressed in an hour;
got some breakfast, and walked to the station, for I had to go
to the freight department and start from there. But that
same caboose car was a clean as a pink, a nice gentlemanly fel-
low, of that class, was the conductor, and I was able to walk
about and pick up information generally. Well, the day was
more gorgeous than anything you can imagine. I stood by
an open window all the fourteen miles, and enjoyed the warm
balminess of the air after the wet and cold and gloom I had
been enduring. Arrived at Urbana, I had to wait an hour and
a half for the train ; of course the waiting-room was so hot
that it was impossible to sit in it. So I walked up and down
in the sun, thinking, determining, resolving, and promising our
Lady of Loretto, etc., eta, if ever I got out of this, etc., etc.,
etc., I would never, etc., etc., etc., any more. By the by, as
I make these three signs of eta, it strikes me very much like
the geographical or geometrical designs of my joumeyings
since I left you, for such up and downs, ins and outs, to's
and froms I have never before encountered in succession, I
have committed some escapades, but they were short and
sharp. This has been a long-drawn-out affair."
The above allusion to " our Lady of Loretto " was a
reminiscence of a witty friend, who was wont on any occa-
254 CHABLOTTB CUSHliAN :
sion of difficulty or emeigencj to promise two candle-
sticks to our Lady of Loretto, with inimitable grace and
unction.
In a sad letter from Toledo, November 26, she writes : —
*^ I have got off acting at a mating, which was first intended,
and I shall give thanks for that, and all the infinite mercies
of God to me, for they are manifold, I am suffering a good
deal more pain than I like to acknowledge, and only when I
am on the stage or asleep am I unconscious of it This has
been unceasing since the summer, and I suppose I must ex-
pect it ; but while I can bear it I am wrong to give any ex-
pression of it, even to you. It is wicked of me to say any-
thing about it, and I have a great mind to destroy this letter ;
and yet) and yet, when we regularly face our real troubles I
believe they become more endurable, and the thought con-
veyed in one of your last letters, that anything happening to
me would kill you, gives me much sad thought. I have been
spared much longer than you or I ever thought possible when
my trouble first declared itself. We ought to be better pre-
pared by this time, and we must school ourselves for what is
inevitable ; though I am a poor creature to talk in this way, for
I cannot accept even the inevitable without fighting. I have
fought, €k)d knows, very hard for four years, especially the two
last ; but I know my enemy, he is ever before me, and he must
conquer ; but I cannot give up to him. I laugh in his face
and tiy to be jolly, and I am I I declare I am, even when he
presses me hardest, and you must try to be so too. Tou must
not mind these landmarks which you get occasionally from
me in any other way than to make you more and more
resigned to the changes which must come some time to every-
body, and which, wandering as I do, and running other risks
than those which fate seems to have marked out distinctly for
me, might come to me any day and any hour."
After a severe illness in Baltimore, which obliged her
to stop short in all her engagements for a time, she writes
upon recovery, February 14th : —
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 265
" I am BO grieved to hear jou are not well ; but keep up a
good hearty courage, and let us thank God that we are both
lifted out of our troubles and anxieties, and we shall be com-
forted by the laying of ourselves at his feet, for that means
resignation and self-abnegation, and with both of these oomes
help ; and only in self-abnegation and self-sacrifice does help
come. Then God takes up his part, but while we will help
ourselves he permits us. I have a lovely day for my journey,
and all promises welL Once in Philadelphia you must have
no anxiety about me, for is not God and my good doctor
there 1"
After this the tone of her letters is better and more
hopeful for some tima She is again looking forward
to work, and laying out plans for the future ; but she
says: —
" Ah, how we lay out plans, and how they are all frustrated
and hopes shattered and calculations blown to air by an over-
excitement ! Hereafter, neither before nor after my readings
will I do anything but rest^ and always during my readings I
must wear a bit and a bridle."
It is from Wilkesbarre she is writing : —
''Let us be fashionable, or perish. So I begin my note
of to-day writing across the paper instead of the usual
way. I sit, as I write, and look across a large yellow
river to the opposite stretch of hills, upon which the sun is
lying in a March-y way. The wind is slapping the branches
of the trees against one another, and loosening the sap-cells,
and veiy soon, in a three days' change, spring will be upon
us. You and I have been passing through our blowing sand
slappings, and we shall, as soon as bright days come, be like
birds, hopping, singing, and making everybody jolly about
us."
May IStJu During this interval Miss Cushman had
gone through a very successful reading engagement in
256 CHASLOTTB CUSHMAK :
New York, and had put herself under a course of water-
treatment which she thought was helping her. Under
this date she writes : —
'' I am satisfied that the treatment is doing me good, not»
perhaps, by any evidenoe in my special malady, but in my
general condition. I am feeling generally much better. I
am certainly going through my work wonderftiUy ; my spirits
are better, and I can do more. I am sure it is the treatment.
I am so settled in my fidth in this, that I think I will consent
to the engagement offered me at Booth's Theatre for Octo-
ber."
During the rest of this summer she pursued the water-
treatment with her usual firm persistence in whateyer
she once accepted. In some respects, as the foregoing
letter will show, she found benefit, and there can be no
doubt it relieved her of some unfavorable symptoms ; but
as time went on there were evidences that the time for
giving up the active work of her profession was at hand.
Her last engagement at Booth's Theatre waj3 the result
of these convictions, though when she entered upon it
she had no thought of taking a formal farewell of the
stage. She had already made engagements to act, if she
were able, in various parts of the country, and, as every-
body knows, theatrical engagements are fixed and irrevo-
cable facts, which cannot be altered or modified except
under conditions of absolute inability from illness. After-
wards, when the farewell at Booth's Theatre was deter-
mined on, and the ovation tendered to her which assumed
such formidable proportions, she herself explained to the
public that she was still under these engagements, and
also that in leaving the stage she reserved to herself
the right of appearing at the reading-desk. This explana-
tion seemed unnecessary at the time> and is therefore
HEB LIFE, LBITEBS, AKD lOEMOBIES. 257
repeated here in justice to her memoiy against some
nnwortiij comments which weie made, let us hope in
ignorance of the true state of the case. With regard to
the ovation, Miss Cushman was herself perhaps the person
who knew least about it of all the parties concerned;
rumors of what was intended reached her from time to
time, and she took pains to utter earnest protests against
any proceedings which seemed to her exaggerated or want-
ing in true dignity. Whatever was carried out which
could be so characterized was contrary to her wishes,
though she, in common with all who cared for her, could
not but be deeply impressed by the depth, warmth, and
enthusiasm of the demonstration. Under all its aspects
it can only be looked upon as a grand testimonial ; for
such expressions of feeling cannot even be gai up without
a true and solid foundation.
CHAPTER XII.
CUSHMAirS FAHEWEIX TO NFW
YORK.
" My Lords, I care not (so much I am bappy
Above a number) if my actions
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them.
Envy and base opinion set against them,
I know my life so even."
Henry VIII.
newspapers gave full particulars of the event,
and it is not so far distant that it is not well
remembered ; but for the sake of those who come
after us, to whom all that relates to Miss Cushman will
soon be only a tradition, I insert here a brief abstract of
the ceremonies of the occasion.
Bemembrance will long bear in mind the incidents of
the Saturday night at Booth's Theatre, when Charlotte
Cushman took her final leave of the metropolitan stage.
The scene was one of quite extraordinary beauty and in-
terest. The spacious theatre was crowded in every part
by an assemblage comprising all that is most worthy and
distinguished in our civic circle of literature, art, learning,
and society. Faces of known and honored persons were
seen in every direction. All that could be desired of
intellect and brilliancy in an audience, and all that coidd
be devised of tasteful accessories for a great occasion, were
gathered and provided here, and the occasion proved in
H£B LIFE, LSTTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 259
every way worthy of the motive that prompted it, the
idea that it celebrated, and the anticipations it aroused.
The play was ''Macbeth"; upon the performances there is
here no reason to pause. The personation has passed into
history as one of the greatest dramatic achievements of
our age ; and the word for the hour is not so much a
recognition of its established excellence, as a record of an
ovation, not more brilliant than deserved to illustrious
genius and imperishable renown.
It was about eleven o'clock when the curtain fell upon
the tragedy. An interval ensued: when it was again
lifted, one of the most distinguished companies that has
ever been seen in a public place came into view. The
stage was crowded with representative faces in art, litera-
ture, and the drama. The venerable head of William
Cullen Bryant occupied the centre of the group; Mr.
Charles Boberts, who had been selected to read Mr. Stod-
dard's ode, appeared at the right of the stand, which was
composed of the beautiful floral testimonials offered to
Miss Cushman.
The actress herself, who had doffed her tragic robes,
and appeared in propria persona in a tasteful dress of
steel-gray silk, simple and without ornament, entered
amid plaudits which shook the building, and took her
place upon the left of the stage, and the ceremonies of
farewell began with the recitation of the oda
SALVE, BEGINA.
The race of greatness never dies ;
Here, there, its fiery children rise,
Perform their splendid parts,
And captive take oar hearts.
Hen, women of heroic monld,
Have overcome ns fix>m of old ;
260 CHABLOm CUSHMAN:
Crowns waited then» at now.
For every loyil brow.
The rictor in the Olympic gamei^ —
UiB name anumg the proudest names
Was handed deathless down ;
To him the olive crown.
And they, the poets, gnye and sage^
Stem masters of the tragic stsge^
Who moved by art aostere
To pity, love, and fear, —
To those was given the knrel crown.
Whose lightest leaf conferred renown
That throng the ages fled
Still circles each gray head.
Bat greener laurels duster now.
World-gathered, on his spacious brow,
In his snpremest place,
Greatest of their great race, —
Shakespeare ! Honor to him, and her
Who stands his grand interpreter.
Stepped ont of his broad page
Upon the living stage.
The xmseen hands that shape onr fate
Moulded her strongly, made her greats
And gave her for her dower
Abundant life and power.
To her the sister Muses came.
Proffered their marks, and promised fiune ;
She chose the tragic, rose
To its imperial woes.
What queen unqueened is here ? what wife.
Whose long bright years of loving life
Aro suddenly darkened ! Fate
Has crushed, but left her great
HBB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 261
AbftiidoDed for a younger hc»,
She sees another fill her place.
Be more than she has been, —
Most wretched wife and queen I
royal sufferer ! patient heart !
Lay down thy burdens and depart ;
" Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,"
They ring her passing-belL
And thine, thy knell shall soon be rung.
Lady, the yalor of whose tongue,
That did not uige in yain.
Stung the irresolute Thane
To bloody thoughts, and deeds of death, —
The eyil genius of Macbeth ;
But thy strong will must break.
And thy poor heart must ache.
Sleeping she sleeps not ; night betrays
The secret that consumes her days.
Behold her where she stands
And rubs her guilty hands.
From darkness, by the midnight fire^
Withered and weird, in wild attire^
Starts spectral on the scene
The stem old gypsy queen.
She croons his simple cradle-song.
She will redress his ancient wrong, —
The rightful heir come back.
With murder on his track.
Commanding^ crouching, dangerous, kind,
Gonfusiou in her darkened mind.
The pathos in her years
Compels the soul to tears.
Bring laurel ! go» ye tragic Three,
And strip the sacred laurel-tree,
And at her feet lay down
Here^ now, a triple crown.
262 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
Salve, Begina 1 Art and song,
Dismiased by thee, ahall misa thee hmg.
And keep thy memory green, —
Our moat illustriooa queen 1
Mr. Bryunt then delivered the following address : —
'' Madam : The members of the Arcadian Club have desired
me to present you with a crown of laurel. Although of late
years little fiEtmiliar with matters connected with the stage, I
make it a pleasure to comply with their request Be pleased
to receive it as both a token of their proud admiration of your
genius and their high esteem for your personal character. You
remember the line of the poet Spenser, —
' The knrel, meed of mi^ty oonqnerora.'
Well is that line applied in the present instance. The laurel
is the proper ornament for the brow of one who has won so
eminent and enviable a renown by successive conquests in the
realm of histrionic art You have taken a queenly rank in your
profession ; you have carried into one department of it after
another the triumphs of your genius ; you have interpreted
through the eye and ear to the sympathies of vast assem-
blages of men and women the words of the greatest dramatic
writers ; what came to your hands in the i^eleton form yon
have clothed with sinews and flesh, and given it warm blood
and a beating heart Receive, then, the laiurel crown as a
token of what is conceded to you, as a symbol of the regal
state in your profession to which you have risen and so illus-
triously hold."
Mr. Bryant then tendered her a laurel wreath bound
with white ribbon, which rested on a purple velvet cush-
ion. Embroidered in golden letters is this inscription : —
C.C.
"PALMAM QUI MERUrr VEELkTr
18 AC. 74.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND liEMOBIE& 263
The letters '' A. C." form the monogram of the Arcadian
Club. Miss Gushman responded to this address in the fol-
lowing words: —
« Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank
you. Gentlemen, the heart has no speech; its only lan-
guage is a tear or a pressure of the hand, and words very
feebly convey or interpret its emotions Yet I would beg you
to believe that in the three little words I now speak, ' 1 thank
you,' there are heart depths which I should fail to express better,
though I should use a thousand other words. I thank you,
gentlemen, for the great honor you have offered me. I thank
you, not only for myself, but for my whole profession, to
which, through and by me, you have paid this very graceful
compliment. If the few words I am about to say savor of
egotism or vainglory, you will, I am sure, pardon me, inas-
much as I am here only to speak of myself. You would seem
to compliment me upon an honorable life. As I look back
upon that life, it seems to me that it would have been im-
possible for me to have led any other. In this I have, per-
haps, been mercifully helped more than are many of my more
beautiful sisters in art. I was, by a press of circumstances,
thrown at an early age into a profession for which I had re-
ceived no special education or training ; but I had already,
though so young, been brought face to face with necessity.
I found life sadly real and intensely earnest, and in my
ignorance of other ways of study, I resolved to take there-
from my text and my watchword. To be thoroughly in ear-
nest, intensely in earnest in all my thoughts and in all my
actions, whether in my profession or out of it, became my
one single idea. And I honestly believe herein lies the secret
of my success in life. I do not believe that any great success
in any art can be achieved without it.
" I say this to the banners in my profession, and I am
sure all the associates in my art, who have honored me with
their presence on this occasion, will indorse what I say in
this. Art is an absolute mistress; she will not be coquetted
264 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK :
with or slighted ; die requires the most entire self-devotion,
and she repays with grand triumphs.
^ To you, gentlemen of the Arcadian Club, and to all who
have united to do me honor, — to the younger poet who has
enthroned me in his Terse, and to the older poet who brings
the prestige of his name and fisune to add a glory to the crown
he offers me ; to the managers of this theatre, who have so
liberally met all my wishes and requirements during this
engagement, as well as to the members of the company who
have so cheerfully seconded my efforts ; and last, not least, to
the members of my profession who have so graciously added
by their presence to the happiness of this occasion, I return
mj cordial thanks.
"To my public — what shall I sayl From the depths of
my heart I thank you, who have given me always considera-
tion, encouragement, and patience ; who have been ever my
comfort, my support, my main help. I do not now say fare-
well to you in the usual sense of the word. In making my
final representations upon the mimic scene in the various
cities of the country, I have reserved to myself the right of
meeting you again where you have made me believe that I
give you the pleasure which I receive myself at the same
time, — at the reading-desk. To you, then, I say, may you
fare well and may I fare well, until at no distant day we
meet again — there. Meanwhile, good, kind friends, good
night, and God be with you.**
The ceremonies of this notable occasion terminated vnth
a serenade and display of fireworks in front of the Fifth
Avenue Hotel, where many friends had assembled to greet
Miss Cushman on her return from the theatre.
I find in one of Miss Cushman's own letters a reference
tp this event, which shows her own position witb regard
to it
" I acted eight times last week," she writes, '^beside that
fearful affiur after the play on Saturday. They say such a
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 265
iemonstration has never been made before, not even politicaL
The number of people in front of the hotel must have been
near 25,000, and it looked exactly like the Piazza del Popolo at
the fireworks. I wish the children could have seen it ; it was a
thing they should have seen, to remember in connection with
their ' big mama.' You must tell them all about it, how the
whole big square in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel was
crammed with human beings. They could not move, they
were so densely packed.
''The sight in the theatre was magnificent Then the
ceremony at the end, which had made me sick all the week,
for I was frightened lest I should foi^t what I had to say.
Then I did not know what they were going to do, for when I
would protest against this or that they would tell me it should
not be, and yet I felt sure they would do what they pleased ; and
so it turned out ; for, though I had said if they carried out their
plan of white horses and escort with torches, eta, I would re-
main in the theatre all night, yet, when I got into my car-
riage at the private (carpenters') entrance on Twenty-third
Street, expecting to go quietly to the hotel, where I had in-
vited private friends to meet me, I found myself surrounded
by a mass of human beings with torches and fireworks, rockets
sent up all the way along up to the front entrance of the
hotel, and a most mdescribable noise and confusion. The
corridors of the hotel were as crowded as the streets outside,
and I could scarcely make my way along. Then, after a time,
I had to make my appearance in the balcony, and then the
shouting was something awful to hear. I was ready to drop
with fatigue, so I only could wave my handkerchief to them,
and went in, not getting to my bed before half past two."
FAREWELL TO PHILADELPHIA.
On Saturday afternoon, November 14, 1874, Miss
Charlotte Cushman played Meg Merrilies, and on Sat-
urday evening. Lady Macbeth, for the last time, before
266 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAK:
the Philadelphia public. On each occasion the Academy
of Music was crowded ; the audience in the evening being
especially noteworthy, not only for numbers, but for dis-
tinction. The tragedy was finely done throughout, and
Miss Cushman was admirably supported. After the aw-
ful sonmambulist scene, Miss Cushman was summoned
by the plaudits of the audience, and came forward to re-
ceive many magnificent floral testimonials. The tragedy
then proceeded to its conclusion, and after the curtain fell,
in answer to loud demands. Miss Cushman appeared, trans-
formed from the ghostly figure in which she had last been
seen into the elegantly dressed lady of the drawing-room.
The whole vast audience rose, applauding and cheering as
she approached the footlights, and as soon as silence could
be obtained. Miss Cushman spoke as follows : —
" Ladibb and Gentlemen : Accustomed as I am to speak
before you the impassioned words of genius, to give utterance
to the highest ideals of the poet and the dramatist, I yet feel
that my poor tongue must falter when it is called upon to
speak for itself alone so sad a word as ' farewell,' or when it
tries to thank you fitly for all your kindness to me in the
past, for all the honor you do me in the present I have
never to the best of my knowledge and belief altered a line
of Shakespeare in my life ; but now, in taking my leave of
the stage, I shall beg your permission to paraphrase him, the
more fitly to express what I would say to you ; for it is his
peculiar gloiy that none other in the whole range of litera-
ture has written words which apply more fully to every want
of the soul, to every feeling of the heart Let me say, then,
partly in his words,
"All my service
In every point twice done, and then done double,
Were poor and single bosinees to contend
Against these honors, deep and broad, wherewith
Yon have ever loaded me. For those of old,
And the late dignities heaped up to them,
I rest your debtor."
H£B UFE, LETTESS^ AND MEMORIES. 267
** In the earlier part of my professional career Philadelphia
was for some years my happy home. Here I experienced
privately the greatest kindness and hospitality, publicly the
utmost goodness and consideration ; and I never come to
Philadelphia without the affectionate feeling that I am com-
ing home, and to my family. This would make my farewell
too hard to be spoken, were it not that, though I am taking
my leave of the stage, I have reserved to myself the right and
the pleasant anticipation of appearing before you where you
have flattered me with the belief that my efforts are not
unacceptable to you, — at the reading-desk ; until, at no dis-
tant day, we meet again there, good night, and all good be
with you."
This beautiful address, deUvered with genuine feeling
and matchless elocution, was often interrupted with ap-
plause, which warmly followed the great artist as she
disappeared. When the vast multitude emerged upon
Broad Street, there was such a mass-meeting as that
avenue has seldom seen. The management had thought
to give ^cl&t to the occasion by a display of fireworks in
front of the theatra The object of this demonstration
quietly went out of the theatre by the stage door and
drove to her hotel, while the vast crowd were enjoying
the pyrotechnics given in her honor. It was an evening
to be long remembered.
After the farewell in Philadelphia Miss Cushman gave
readings in Trenton, Baltimore, and Washington, at which
last place, ovdng to a cold hall and careless arrangements
for her comfort, she took cold, and started on her Western
journey already suffering. She was obliged to stop short
at Cincinnati, where a very serious illness overtook her,
which postponed her engagements and compelled her to
abandon her projected trip to California. This was a
great disappointment to her ; she ardently desired to see
268 OHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
that cotmtiy, and make the acqaaintance of its people,
but it was too late ; after this she was never able to un-
dertake the journey ; as soon as she was sufficiently re-
covered, — and she rose up from these violent attacks for
a long time in a wonderful way, — she gave readings at
Chicago and Milwaukee, Cleveland, Buffalo, and Ithaca.
December 18th she returned to New York, and read at
Trenton, Morristown, Philadelphia^ Baltimore, and Wash-
ington.
Among the many graceful tributes to Miss Cushman
with which I might crowd my pages, I must not omit
those of her true poet-Mend, Sidney Lanier, who, though
coming into the circle of her friendship during these lat-
ter years, won for himself there a warm and high place.
She met him for the first time on this visit to Baltimore,
and, aheady much interested in him through his writings,
sought his acquaintance, and expressed to him in her
wonted earnest way the pleasure they had given her.
The interest with which she inspired him he has en-
shrined in his own verses, and I am permitted to let them
speak for themselves.
(With a copy of " Com.'O
TO MISS CHABLOTTE CITSHMAK.
what a perilona waste from low to hi^
Must this poor book from me to yoa o'erleap^ —
From me, who wander in the nights that lie
About Fame's utmost yagae foondations deep,
To you, that sit on Fame's most absolute height,
DiBtinotly staned, e'en in that awful light t
SiDNBT Lanhr.
Januaiy 37, 1875.
And in another and later sonnet : —
TO CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.
Look where a three-point star shall weaye his beam
Into the slumbrous tissue of some stream,
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND HEMOBIES. 269
TiU hu brl^t self o'er bis bright copy leem
Fnlfilsient dropping on a come-tme dreun ;
So in thlB night of art thy soul doth ahow^
Her excellent doable in the ateadfart flon
Of wishing love that through men's hearts doth go ;
At once thou shin'st above and shin'st below.
E'en when thoa atrivest there within Arf s sky
(Each star most o'er a strennons orUt flyX
Full oslm thine image in our love doth lie^
A motion glassed in a tranquillity.
So triple-rayed thou mov'st, yet sta/st, serene, —
Arf s artist, Love's dear woman. Fame's good queen !
SiDNET Lanisb.
And again, when he published a volume of poems, the
deep feeling of mingled tenderness and admiration which
he felt for her finds fit utterance in the '' Dedication."
TO CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN.
Aa Love wiU carve dear namea upon a tree^
Symbol of gravure on hia heart to be^
So thought I thine with loving text to aet
In the growth and aubatance of my Canzonet ;
But, writing it, my teara begin to ftU —
Thia wild-roae atem for thy laige name 'a too amaU !
Kay, atin my trembling handa are fain, are fidn
Cut the good lettera though they lap again ;
Perchance auch folk aa mark the blur and atain
Wm aay, It was ike bwting o/th^ rain;
Or haj4y theae o'er-woundinga of the atem
May koae some little balm, to plead for them.
On the 6th of February, 1875, she read in Albany, stop-
ping with Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Seward, travelling on the
8th to Chicago, through the very coldest weather of the
season, and acting in Chicago from the 15th to the 26th.
On the 27th she b^an a week's engagement in Cindn-
270 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
nati, and on the 7th of March started for St Louis. In
consequence of a heavy snow-storm she missed connec-
tion at Indianapolis, and was detained so long on the
road, that she only arrived in time to go directly to the
theatre and act Lady Macbeth the same night. This was
a splendid example of her power of rising above difficulty
in the dischai^ of duty. Although exhausted by a long
journey, and far from well, she could not disappoint man-
ager or public. After a slight rest and refireshment she
went upon the stage, and acted Lady Macbeth so that
none among her audience knew she was not in full force,
or missed anything in the impersonation. She fulfilled
her engagement of five nights ; but it was at the expense
of another attack of illness, from which she rose up to
give a reading, and afterwards to read and act at Pitts-
burgh and Philadelphia, — in the latter place, to an au-
dience of three thousand.
During this period of rapid movement and constant
occupation the letters are only brief bulletins of her state
and progress, and there are no noteworthy incidents to
chronicle ; except that I find in one of them an expres-
sion of her pleasure in seeing Bistori act, and describing
a graceful little incident which occurred on one of these
occasions. She writes : —
'' I have been to the theatre two nights to see Bistori in
" Elizabetta " and " Marie Antoinette." I wished for you very
much to see her with me. She is the greatest female artist I
have ever seen. Such perfect natiue, such ease, such grace,
such elegance of manner, such as befits a queen. On Monday
night I sat in the director's box, holding a beautifiil bouquet
of roses and lilies of the valley for her. At the end of the sec-
ond act she was called, the curtain was lifted, and she came
down with some of the others. As I lifted the bouquet she
saw it and came over to the box. She is near-sighted| so did
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 271
not recognize me until she came near ; then she gave a start
tx)ward me, saying, ' Ah, cara amica 1 ' She almost put her
arms around me, and would have kissed me if I had let her.
We exchanged words to know where each was staying, the
audience all this while applauding tremendously. Friends say
it was one of the prettiest sights they ever saw, and the audi-
ence seemed to think so. She came to see me yesterday, and
we had a long, long talk ; I floundering about in Italian, and
she talking like an angel. Her voice is the most lovely,
and her mouth the most &scinating, after Titiens, of any ar-
tist I ever saw. The * Marie Antoinette ' lasted four hours
and a quarter. I am sorry to miss the * Lucrezia Borgia ' to*
night, but I am already suffering too much from the indul-
gence. I go on to Baltimore on Saturday. I never know
what I can do till I try [the mat dlwdrt of all true artists],
and I shall try to fulfil my engagements."
FARirWXLL TO BOSTON.
Miss Cushman's farewell to the Boston public, virhich
took place on the 15th of May, 1875, was an occasion of
a less demonstrative kind than that of New York, but,
from its associations, more interesting. She appeared as
Lady Macbeth, and " never," as the chronicles of the time
have borne due witness, " with a grander force, a deeper
intellectuality, or a broader sweep of passion than char-
acterized this, her final impersonation. It is no light
thing for an artist to bid farewell to a career which has
been the loved occupation of a long and thoughtful life,
in which she has reigned supreme for over a quarter of a
century. Nor is it more easy when she is aware that her
genius is yet undimmed and her power unabated. Whether
it was owing to the associations of the time and place or
not, Miss Cushman seemed to throw a deeper pathos into
her efforts, and the last song of the swan appeared to all
to be the sweetest"
272 CHABLOTTB CU8HMAN:
When the cortain loee again* after the condnsion of
the tragedy, it discoveied two fine bronze copies of the
celebrated statues of Mercmy and Fortune, the gifts of
* a number of Miss Cushman's Mends and admirers * in-
tended as a memento of the occasion. Miss Cushman
was led forward by Mr. Arthur Cheney, a number of gen-
tlemen grouped themselves about her, and Mr. Curtis
Guild delivered an address, from which I make the fol-
lowing extracts : —
"MiM Cushman akd Ladrs and Qxntlbmbn: —
** The retirement from the dramatic profession of one who
has 80 long been recognised as one of its most distinguished
representatives, and who has done so much (o elevate dramatic
art^ is, in itself, an event of more than ordinary moment
" But when it occurs here, in the native city of the artist,
and among those who have followed her from the commence-
ment of her eventful career with hope and admiration, and
claimed her as our own with pride at its culmination, it is felt
that the occasion should not be permitted to pass without an
attempt to express, in the most decided manner, the feelings
of her many friends, who deem it a privilege to do her honor.
*' Now that you are about to cast aside the robes of the
artist forever, to abdicate, not resign, the dramatic sceptre of
the American stage, — for who is to wield that which you
have so long swayed as queen ) — now that you are to close
your eventful and successful career with a fame honorably
won and name untarnished, — you that 'have outstripped all
praise and made it halt behind you,' — it is not surprising
that every true lover of dramatic art hastens to do eager
homage, and that hosts of warm and hearty friends should
* In oonseqiience of Miss Coshman's houae being already oyercrowded
with works of art of a liko character, and also innnmerable articles still
unpacked for want of space, the bronzes above mentioned were, vdth the
approval of all ooncemed, changed for a tastefiil gift in silver.
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 273
press forward for the last hand-grasp of her whom they honor
and respect.
''The players' profession, we well know, from the earliest
days, when in Greece it was held honorable and in Rome a de-
spised vocation, has been assailed by fierce opponents. The
great poet of all time himself, we read in the annals of the
English stage, came into the world when the English portion
of it was ringing with denunciations against the profession
which the child in his humble cradle at Stratford-on-Avon
was about to ennoble forever. We need not go back as far as
Shakespeare's time to cite the fierce opposition that the drama
has encountered, or enumerate the obstacles that the dramatic
artist must overcome.
" Let us remember, however, that the art has been sanc-
tioned by the great, befriended by the good, and supported by
the people ; and, moreover, bear in mind that, in this profes-
sion, whose members are in the fall blaze of public observation
and scrutiny, who are too often censured without reason and
condemned without excuse, who are too frequently judged as
a class by the errors of individualSi those who do pass the
fiery ordeal unscathed, who stand before us the real represent-
atives of the dramatic profession, deserve frt)m us our garlands
as the exponents of a great and glorious art, and, upon the
present occasion, more than that, — the high regard which
genius, combined with nobleness of mind and purity of char-
acter, exacts from all true and honest hearts.
" We come here to-night to accord that homage which genius
does not ask, but commands ; to give you, not evidence of pop-
ularity, — mere popularity, — which is as the brightness of
the passing meteor or the fleeting splendors of the rainbow,
but to express our appreciation of true genius and the mani-
festation of genuine friendship.
'* And in conclusion let me say, that though you may pass
from the mimic stage, distant be the day when your exit shall
be made from the great stage on which men and women all
are merely players ; though you may not have our hands in
274 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN :
future before the curtain, they will still cordially grasp yours
in the social circle, which you adorn as modestly as you have
upheld the dramatic art worthily and honorably ; and now,
when we depart, we shall each and all of us remember that^
though
' Many the parts yon played, yet to the end
Your best were those of sister, lady, friend.' "
Miss Coshman, with much emotion, replied as follows : —
" ' The less I deserre,
The more merit lies in yonr bounty.'
" Gentlemen : Tour unexpected kindness deprives me of
all words in which to thank you, and the few I can find will
be but poor and feeble expressions of what I feeL But I would
beg you to believe all that the heart prompts, as my deep and
earnest appreciation of the honor you have done me. It is
especially grateful, because it comes to me here, in my own
native city, and at the hands of those who, from the begin-
ning to the end of my career, have been truly
' Brothers, Mends, and countrymen.'
*' In leaving the stage finally, it has always been my inten-
tion to make my last appearance in Boston ; and this suggests
to me a little explanation, which, with your permission, I would
like to make on this occasion. It has been implied, if not de-
clared, and repeated in the newspapers about the countryi that
I should not have appeared again upon the stage after the great
ovation which was paid to me in New York. At least, so the
gentlemen of the press decided, and many comments have been
made upon me in the papers derogatoty to my dignity as a
woman and my position as an artist. I have passed on, in the
even tenor of my way, little regarding, on my own account,
these would-be censors and judges ; but it seems to me proper
that I should explain to yott^ in whose esteem I have a long-
vested interest, which must not be endangered without a strong
and earnest protest on my part, that, if my last engagement
HEB UFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMOBIES. 275
in New York was announced as my farewell to the stage, it
was done by no act or will or word of mine. I had no such
intention; indeed, I could not have had; for I had already
made many other engagements for the season, which I have
been endeavoring to fulfil, concluding, as was always my dear-
est wish, here, in my own city of Boston, which I have always
dearly loved, and where I would rather have been bom than
in any other spot of the habitable globe.
" I hope I have not tired your patience, but I could not rest
without endeavoring to remove even the shadow of a shade
which might cloud the perfect harmony between me and my
public, who I hope and trust will accept this explanation from
me. Looking back upon my career, I think I may, ' without
vainglory,' say, that I have not by any act of my life done dis-
credit to the city of my birth."
Then, turning to the gentlemen of the committee of
presentation, Miss Cushman continued : —
" So now, with a full but more free heart, I revert to you.
To this last beautiful manifestation of your goM-will towards
me, and to all who have so graciously interested themselves to
do me this honor, I can but say, —
' More is their due
Than more than all can pay.
Believe me, I shall carry away with me into my retirement no
memory sweeter than my associations with Boston and my
Boston public.
" From my full heart, €rod bless you, and farewelL"
The chronicle continues : —
''The curtain then fell and the audience departed. And
thus was seen the last of the great artist in a sphere which
she has so long and so well adorned. She has quitted it
with, we hope, many years of life and happiness before her^
to enjoy the repose she has so worthily earned. ' Hail, and
farewell!'"
CHAPTER XIII.
" Boniitjr, peTMTennoe, mttiey, lawUnen,
DaroUou, pktlance, eooniga, rortitude."
" Wtiere woidi an icuce, thej' 're Mldom ipent in vain.
For Ui>7 bruUie tnitti, thti brwtlie tlielr woidi Id piln."
Jtichardll.
ER the farewell io Boston on May 15, 1875,
I Mias Cusbman went on a short readit^-tour to
I Bocbester, Buffalo, Syracuse, Auburn, and Ithaca.
On June 2d she read at Easton, Pennsylvania, and from
there she went foi a few days to Lenox, Maasacbusetts,
where she was much interested iu altering and furnishing
a small cott^, to which she hoped to retreat in the late
days of summer, when the damp heat of Newport became
oppressive and baleful to her, and when a change from
the sea to mountain air seemed desirabla
The pleasure and enjoyment she found in this small
spot were delightful to see ; all its appointments were of a
simple, homely kind, which added the charm of contrast
to the elegant attractions of her N'ewport home. She
brought with ber there the same simplicity of taste aud
adaptability to her surroundings which made for her a
home wherever she might be. She always enjoyed a
return to the modest housekeeping of her early days,
when Sallie and herself used to rough it so contentedly
tc^ether. Everything interested her, on the small scale
HER LIFE, LETTERS^ AND MEMORIES. 277
as on the large one ; her mind was busy, active, sugges-
tive, and full of purpose and energy. She had no room
for petty cares or trivial conventionalities ; she raade her
surroundings suitable and appropriate, and where she was,
no one ever thought of anything else.
The little place would have been as complete in its
way as the larger one if her life had been spared; but
she was only permitted to enjoy a few days of it at this
time, and again later in the season, a few weeks, after a
long and severe illness at Newport, which for a time
seemed to make it doubtful if she might ever see it again.
Part of July and all of August she was prostrated by what
seemed to be a kind of intermittent fever, with malarial
symptoms, accompanied by aggravations of her especial
malady, which made it a very suffering tima In the
early part of September, however, she raUied* again, and
gained strength enough to make the journey to Lenox.
There the fresh breezy air of the Berkshire hills, the
moxmtain drives, and the short walks she was soon able
to take, acted like a charm upon her, and speedily gave
her back some measure of strength and appetite.
But, pleasant as she found it, here as always '' a divided
duty " was warring against the good influences about her.
She had made up her mind to put herself again xmder
special medical treatment, and on October 7th she returned
to Boston for her last winter.
The last winter was passed at the Parker House, un*
der medical treatment ; bearing up steadfastly, enduring
pain bravely and heroically, and finding her best relief
in the giving out of herself for the help and comfort oi
others. How many will remember those days, who came
to her with their sorrows and left her cheered, com-
forted, and instructed. Until within two days of her
death she sent a daily bulletin of her condition, written
278 cEASJ/ym cushman:
in pencil with her own hand to her family at Newport
This was her first act in the morning after taking her
breakfast. The daily notes vaiy in character : sometimes
hopeful, as a better day comes and the cheerful, sanguine
nature gets a little lift ; at others sad and depressed, but
never failing in loving interest in whatever concerns the
dear ones she watched over so tenderly. To the daily
guests and intimate companions she was so generally
cheerful, so forgot herself in the intellectual and social
stimulus which she enjoyed and needed, that no one could
dream of so sudden a departure. There were alwajrs
anxious fears alternating with almost despairing hopes,
but no anticipation of such a sudden loosening of the
cords of so strong a Ufe. Of those who had borne with
her so long the " burden and heat of the day " all were so
much xmder the influence of her brave spirit, that it was
impossible to believe other than she did ; and even so late
as February 3d she speaks of the possibility of her yet
going to California.
It was most merciful that such should be the case, for
aU about her loved her so they could not have borne up
imder the belief that she must soon go from them. It
was a sufficiently heavy trial, — the long, long suspense,
the aching sympathy, and pity so intense as to be almost
unendurable. She was so sweet, so faithfully loving, so
ready to accept whatever came of comfort or alleviation,
so full of interest and bright intelligence, alive and awake
to all the topics of the time, that her sick-room was the
most interesting place in the world; and those whose
privilege it was to find admission there sat lost in won-
dering love and reverent admiration.
On December 24th Miss Cushman writes more despond-
ingly than usual, more freely of her sufferings ; but, as
usual, with the cry comes also the word of resignation.
HEB LIFE^ LETTEBS^ AND MEMORIES. 279
" This is not the greeting you should have for your Christ-
mas ; but it is better you should know exactly where I am,
and that we may have to defer the celebration of our Christ-
mas to another and happier day. Just feel as though to-mor-
row was any common day, — for is not Christ here to us every
day 1 And we will show our belief in this by trying to have
faith and trust, and make the celebration of it when that trust
and faith are borne out and justified by time ! I grieve for
you, dear, more than for myself, though I am a dreadful baby
over my pain. It is very hard for you ; but the hard places
must come in our lives, and perhaps we should not know how
to enjoy the pleasures, but for the corresponding gloom of the
pains of life. Keep up a good heart. Tou are loved and
thought of as you toould be, and that must give you courage
for the battle which is before you as before us all ) "
In a letter written on Christmas day she says : —
" The doctor is very hopefiil, and says I am better. When
I hear him talk, I am ashamed that I give way under pain
and cause such suffering to those who love me ; but I cannot
help it. It is beyond me, and those who love me must bear
with me, and if I ever get well I will repay them with interest
in mirthfulness and joy, until they shall wonder at the merry
old woman I Your dear letter, with Nino's book-mark, so
beautifully embroidered, and my darling big boy's beautiful
letter and. book-marker, all came to me last night and com-
forted me. I like the children to make me little bits of things
rather than anything else. Give them my dear Christmas love
and wishes. I will write to them before New Year's day. How
did they like their presents 1 I hope well This morning came
Will's comfortable foot-rug ; dear Ned's foot-muff, for carriage
driving ; your lovely head-dress, which I am disporting in a
sort of mockery ; it is too beautiful for such suffering as mine.
My dear friend Annie S sent me a beautiful pot of cama-
tions ; L H a lovely china cup and saucer and plate.
Sallie gave me a bowl which matched it perfectly. Mr. Parker
280 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN:
sent up an immense banch of mistletoe, which I have dis-
tributed among my curious firiends, where it will make fun.
Mrs. C sends a crown and cross in immortelles; Mr.
A y a charming book of his wanderings in Egypt ; Mr.
T , flowers ; Mrs. H B , flowers ; indeed, I have
not room to tell you all the kindness and good-will. Tell
Will, with my dear love, that her little foot-rug comforts my
feet at this moment ; my foot-muff gazes at me with open
mouth from the comer ; my book-markers are on my photo-
graph board. All are sweetly welcome and much prized."
A note from another hand, speaking of this time, is not
so cheerfuL She bad been much more ill before Christmas,
and had made her usual effort to be equal to the day and
the occasion, as is evident in the foregoing letter. It
says: —
" I could not write you a word of greeting for Christmas,
because I could not do so cheerfully. You know how deep
down in our slough of despond we have been, and it was as
much as I could do to bear up for our daily needs. Yet I
have been sustained by something above and beyond myself,
else I could not have kept up. Now, this morning, I am glad
to be able to send you a more hopefid word. I know so well
what it is to be at a distance from those we love when they are
sufiering. I feel it even when I go into the streets here ; the
rush of life and health hurts in the ever-present thought of the
dear and precious one alone and in pain. I hurry back to her,
finding my only comfort in the nearness, and in the small,
ifnaU ways wherein I can tiy to be of help and comfort.
Your letter of last night made me feel how much more happy
I am than you, in possessing this privilege, and I felt the need
of telling you my sympathy.
" We have had a pleasant Christmas within, though gray
and dismal without ; all oiur little gifts are placed about, and
look lovely ; my heavenly blue jacket seems to hold out its
arms to me, full of celestial influencea Thank the dear little
HEB LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 281
boys for me for their pretty gifts. I wish I were a fidry god-
mother for their sokes. The room is quite a bower with
flowers and Christmas greens ; the mantel and evety available
place is adorned with charming little things, and our dear one
has been pleased and happy in them. Tou will see by all
this that the good genius of Christmas has not forsaken us
yet ; and you will be pleased to know that flowers and pleasant
things can yet find an echo in our souls,"
Early in Januaiy Miss Cushman's sufferings were
much aggravated, and for a time she seemed to be run-
ning down rapidly : appetite and sleep failed, and hope
and trust almost departed ; our hearts were heavy indeed.
It was at this time that she made aU the arrangements
which were afterwards carried out for her funeral services,
naming those whom she wished to be pall-bearers, and
fixing upon King's Chapel for her burial-services. With
all her own calm forethought she entered minutely into
the details, which seemed afterwards most providential,
because, when the event really came, it was so compara-
tively sudden that there was no opportunity for such
instructions. She had already purchased and prepared a
plot at Mount Auburn, rejoicing much, when she visited
it for the first time, that it commanded a view of " dear
Boston," and talking over its site and its beauty with a
cheerful brightness peculiarly her own.
After this she again rallied, and was so much better for
several weeks that hope again sprang up in our hearts.
In a letter as late as January 27th, alluding to a friend's
sorrows she writes : —
" Ah, I am ashamed of the outcry I have made over mere
physical pain, when the world is so full of * carking care,'
which corrodes the soul ! God forgive me for fretting and
complaining. I have not known what else to do, and impo-
tence is my curse and cross. Ah, please his infinite mercy
282 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
that I am ever well again, will we not be happy and good, and
love him more and more day by day 1 "
In another letter of the 30th she writes : —
'* I hardly think you or any one dream how I love those dear
children ; how my own belongings make up my world of love
and faith. The rest of the world are more or less agreeable,
as givers-out or recipients, and so are more or less acceptable.
I am sympathetic, and so more a lover of my kind than most
people ; hence I must see people, and it is useless to attempt
to box me up. I cannot be saved in this respect, and it is
foUy to try."
This is in reference to well-meant but mistaken endeav-
ors to save her from some of the fatigues to which she
subjected herself by the social influences she drew about
her. More than ever in her decline was she attractive
and fascinating. The light burned more and more brightly
as it approached its extinction, and every moment she
could give to the friends who surrounded her, and were
only too happy to sit at her feet, was absorbed and en-
joyed to the utmost
From a letter of February 4th I take an extract refer-
ring to Miss Gushman's life and surroundings at this time.
" We were hoping that this morning would bring us a letter
from you ; but since it has not, the next best thing is to send
you one on this good day which keeps us in and other people
out, for it is snowing. Old winter has been trying again to be
winterly, and has deposited snow to about the depth of five
inches. The pigeons and sparrows are somewhat inconven-
ienced by it : the former, because they sink into it, being round
and fat with much feeding ; and the latter, whose light weight
enables them to hop over it, because the bread thrown to them
drops down beneath the surface. One large piece of roll made
a sort of well in the snow, deep enough to ingulf two small
sparrows at once. C lies in her bed in the morning and
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AKD MEKORIES. 283
looks out upon the opposite roof where we feed the creatures,
and the first thing that must be done is to give them their
breakfast, for which thej are always waiting. They are so
tame now, that when the expected meal is delayed they crowd
the window-sill, and as the morning sun pours into these win-
dows they are pleasant objects, with their burnished necks and
bright glancing eyes.
** I promised once to give you a description of our sitting-
room ; it has four windows in it, looking towards the southeast
and north; those on the north haye double glass, and the
southern ones admit the morning sun in floods up to twelve
o'clock. The prospect from these windows is not at all ugly ;
it is open, and commands a view of some fine buildings. Op-
posite, on the north, is the City Hall, a handsome building,
very bright and cheery at night, when its windows are all
lighted up. It has a lai^ and spacious courtyard with grass
plots and lai^e trees, and on one side is a veiy good bronze
statue of Franklin, who stands with his cocked hand under
his arm, and has on at this moment a hood and cape of
snowy white, in which he looks very funny. Next to the
City Hall comes in well the gable-end of King's Chapel, one
of the oldest churches in Boston, with a steep slate roof and
a projecting semicircular bit at the end, with a sloping roof of
its own, where our pigeons sit and sun and plume themselves,
and where they apparently belong. All over the wall are
vines, now leafless, where the sparrows haunt and keep up an
endless twitter. The windows toward the southeast look over
the roofs of the meaner buildings, and command a view of the
new Boston post-office, which has a sufficiently massive and
varied outline to be quite picturesque. In this direction there
are other fine distant buildings, many steeples, and a perfect
forest of vanes, which light up in a wonderful manner in the
setting sunlight. You perhaps will care more for the inside
than the outside of oiur room ; so I must turn your attention
inward. In one comer is the writing-table, and over it hangs
the frame of photographs, a contrivance of C ^'s own, being
284 CHABLOTTE CUSHMAN :
a board of about a yard and a half long by three qnarierB
broad, covered with purple cloth, and hung up by gilt chains
like a picture. Upon this are fastened the photographs with
artists' pins. It has already a goodly collection, and has
proved a great success. To the left of the table, over the
sofa, the bare wall is covered up with some Japanese paintings
of flowers ; fiulher on a door is decorated with autumn leaves,
and opposite, another door has one of those pictures of a Jap-
anese lady walking in the snow, with an umbrella. The man-
tel is covered with pretty objects in china and glass, pictures,
and vases with flowers, of which there is an unceasing supply.
At the end of the room is a large pier-glass, and in front of it
stands dear Charlotte's easy (or uneasy) chair and her little
table, where she sits now fix)m morning till night, except for
the hour or two after four o'clock when she takes her rest
She reads a great deal, and occasionally writes, as you know.
Our days pass swiftly in their regular routine ; she receives
any intimate friends who come, and there are many."
During the early part of February Miss Cushman
seemed to be much better. It was not until the 12th
that in her last walk along the corridor of the hotel she
took the cold from some insidious draught which event-
uated in her death on the morning of the 18tL
Those last days were almost painless. She did not at
all realize the hopelessness of her condition, until uncon-
sciousness of everything mercifully came, to save her the
pang of parting, and the hopeless grasp at what she was
leaving behind her.
On the night before her death she asked to have the
poem of " Columbus " read to her, and was able, when
the eyes of the reader failed in the dim light, to prompt
the missing word or line ; she was interested in one whom
she believed was a discoverer, and with whom she traced
an analogy to the character of Columbus as depicted in the
poem. It was almost her last vnsh that the volume of
H£B LIFE^ LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 285
Lowell containing this poem should be presented in her
name to the person in question. Among the newspaper
cuttings of the time> the following lines bear reference to
this incident, and were suggested bj it : —
'' For wast not thou, too, going forth alone
To seek new land across an untried sea ?
New land, — yet to thy sonl not all unknown.
Nor yet £ur off, was that blest shore to thee.
" For thou hadst felt the mighty mystery
That on man's heart and life doth ever rest^
A shadow of that glorious world to be,
Where love's pure hope is with fruition blest.
** Thine was a conflict none else knew but God,
Who gave thee, to endure it, strength divine :
Alone with him the wine-press thou hast trod.
And Death, his angel, scab the victory thine.
'' The narrow sea of death thou now hast passed ;
The mist is lifted from the unseen land ;
The voyage ends, the shining throng at last
Meet thee with welcome on the heavenly strand.
•*C. T. K-
God was very good to us all in the manner of her death,
whereby the merciful sequence of h^r hopeful fortitude
was never broken down, and we were not called upon to
see one moment of weakness in the heroic picture of her
last days.
For an hour on the day of the funeral the people were
permitted to pass through the room where she lay, the
sublime serenity of the last peace upon her noble face, for
the first time failing to respond in sympathy with the
grief around her ; for the first time in all her long career
insensible to the affectionate demonstrations of those she
loved, who in the midst of the overwhelming sense of
bereavement could not but feel, and thank God, that their
loss was her gain. The funeral ceremonies took place
according to her wish in King's Chapel, and were simple
286 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAN :
and sweet and touching with the heartfelt feeling which
surrounded her always^ and found deeper and. more spon-
taneous expression after her death. The flowers that she
loved covered her, — children's hands laid them upon her
coffin; above her head, the inscription on the chancel
wall — ** This is my commandment unto you, that ye love
one another " — seemed to he speaking to all the lesson
of her life, and to be drawing all, with still greater force
than even her living presence had done, into the magic
circle of " peace and good wilL"
All that was mortal of Charlotte Cushman rests beneath
the sod at Mount Auburn, but no one who ever knew her
can think of her as there. Our spirits do not seek her in
the dust ; no thought of her can ever be associated with
the grave ; and so our hearts are not cast down, but only
elevated by the thought that she has escaped the bondage
and sufferings of the flesh, and is rising ever " upward and
onward."
" Not to the grave, not to the graye, my sonl,
Descend to contemplate
The form that once was dear 1
The spirit is not there
Which kindled that dead eye,
Which throbbed in that cold heart,
Which in that motionless hand
Once met thy friendly grasp.
The spirit is not there !
Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul*
FoUow thy friend beloved ;
The spirit is not there 1
♦ ♦ ♦
Bat in the lonely hoar,
But in the evening walk,
Think that she companies thy solitnde ;
Think that she holds with thee
Mysterious intercourse I
And though remembrance wake a tear.
There will be joy in griet"
SOUTJUBV.
CHAPTER XIV.
TRIBUTES TO HER MEMORY.
" Clou up hii cyea u>d draw the cnrUla clou,
And let ua bJI to oedltation."
nairr VI.
1R0M among the 'warm and Bpontaneous tributes
which were called forth by her death, many are
voTthy to be rescued from the ephemeral life of
the newspaper and find a more permanent record here.
There was something very remarkable and deeply touch-
ing in the unanimity, the eamestnese, and the respect with
which the press of the entire country bore witness to her
greatness and laid their tributes u^n her tomb. Earely
has it been given to one individuality to call forth so
wide and heartfelt a recognition. Touched by death's
magic alchemy, whatever remnant of human misjudgment,
prejudice, or ignorance still lingered, marring the perfect
image of her fome, vanished away, leaving the virgin gold
tried in the furnace of affliction and purified until it re-
flected God's image to speak only its true and perfect
lesson.
Even the old accusation, that she made too many fare-
wells, is gently and kindly lifted irom her memoiy by the
hand of her true friend and lover, William Winter. In
the notice from which we quote farther on he says : —
288 GHABLOTTE CUSHMAN:
'' It is not difficult to understand when we consider that
Miss Cushman was a woman of weird genius, sombre imaginar
tion, and great sensibility, that for her conscientious mind and
highly nervous organization the practice of the dramatic art
was terribly earnest ; and that frequently she was the victim
of disease, in which way she often came to believe that the
limit of her labor was reached, that the end of her life was
near, and that her retirement from the public view was need-
ful With natures that see widely and feel deeply, such de-
spondent views of personal destiny and worldly afiBurs are not
unusual. Thackeray, long before he wrote ' The Newcomes,'
said of himself that his work was done, and he should accom-
plish no more. In the several farewells that she took of the
stage Miss Cushman acted like a woman, and precisely like
the woman she was. All of her adieus were sincere. None
of them, till now, were final or possible. Let us bring to the
coffin of this great genius, dead and at rest after such trials
and such anguish, not only the gentleness of charitable judg-
ment, but the justice of intelligent appreciation.''
On the Sunday following the funeral the Bev. Charles
Foote of King's Chapel preached a memorial sermon,
taking for his text these excellent words : " Whatsoever
things are true, whafeoever things are honest, whatso-
ever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, what-
soever things are of good report, if there be any virtue
and if there be any praise, think on these things." (Philip-
pians iv. 8.)
*' In these wonderful words of an apostle," he said, ^* we
have the Christian warrant that whatever brings beauty and
graciousness into our human life is a power for good in human
character. My purpose now is to call your attention to the
fact that in the same group with what may be called the seven
virtues of the gospel is a distinct recognition of what may be
called the gentle aspects of life. Side by side with the things
HEB LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 289
of truth, honesty, justice, puritj, are ' whatsoever things are
lovely and of good report' I take the words as a recognition
among the forces of Christianity, not only of moral loveliness,
but also of those forms of beauty and power which appeal
through the aesthetic sense to the souL They seem to declare
not only that religion is not hostile to these things, but that
it is able to make them helpflil to itsel£ They would show
art has a consecrated function to fulfil ....
'* The only true theory of art is this, that its function is to
create beauty and power, and to make that beauty and power
bear upon the human souL But what kind of beauty ) Let
Raphael answer, writing to a friend : ' As I have not under
my eyes any model which satisfies me, I make one of a certain
ideal of beauty which I find in my souL' Let Michael Angelo
answer in the words of one of his majestic sonnets : ' Expand-
ing her wings to rise toward the heaven whence she descended,
the soul does not linger on the beauty which entices the eye,
and which is as frail as it is treacherous ; but she seeks in
her sublime flight to attain the principle of universal beauty.'
And then she seeks to bring this principle to bear upon the
elevation of human character through its refining and quick-
ening influences. This, and nothing less than this, is the view
which Christianity would take of those great persuasive, at-
tractive forces which so enrich and beautify modem lifa It
would bid them use their opportunities as ministering hand-
maids * at the gate of the temple called Beautiful,' so that
it shall be easier for men to enter in by them to the Temple
itself. ....
*' Many among you, my hearers, are making an application
which is naturally suggested by these thoughts. The remark-
able manifestation of public sorrow which was seen in this
church six days ago, thronging not only this house of prayer,
but the ways around it, and yonder hill of the dead, with mul-
titudes in every condition of lifq, drawn by a like sympathetic
feeling, not merely of a common admiration for a genius that
had dazzled and delighted them, but of appreciation of a noble
290 CHABLOTTB CUSHBCAK:
and generous character, — that general outpouring seems to
giye the keynote for our thoughts. Others have spoken, and
will speak, of the light of genius which shone with strong and
-vivid glow on so many thousands of the English-speaking race.
Many here will long remember the hospitalities which wel-
comed them in the ancient city by the Tiber, and filled its
classic spaces with kind and modem friendliness. Those
whom the ties of friendship bound to her with peculiar
strength, by the magnetism of a laige and forceful nature,
by gratitude for innumerable acts of generous thought which
took shape in effectiye deed, will feel that the world has lost
much of its light for them. And in this community, to which
she belonged, and whose best characteristics were deeply im-
pressed upon her character, there will seem a special fitness
that her earthly life closed in her native place, which was
ever near her heart. I cannot doubt that some fitting me-
morial services will hereafter be held to give expression to all
these. But in this sacred place (which she herself chose for
these last offices, perhaps because it is wellnigh the most char-
acteristic thing of the Boston that she loved) it is alone fitting
to dwell on the moral and religious lessons which always com-
fort us in the presence of death, which comfort us with special
earnestness when we see them illustrated in a noble character,
and shining the more brightly against the earthly shadows
which fall around the close of a remarkable career.
" I have spoken in the beginning of this discourse of the
pure, true function of consecrated art .... The principles
which lie at the heart of this spirit of true art are much more
dose than we are apt to think to the conmion life of us alL
.... So it follows that, in a sense, the true theory of life is
to consider it as an art j and the true art of life is to interpret
God's purpose of what it should be in noble and worthy treat-
ment of it The first necessity of true art is this, — that it
must follow a high ideal ; and none ever accomplished this
without having the eye fixed on an ideal always higher, never
attained, but shining like a guiding star.
H£B UFEy LETTEBSy Ain) MEMOBIES. 291
'' And here that gifted woman, who has done so much to
show our time how a vocation which is beset with peculiar
difficulties and temptations may be filled in a lofty spirit, may
well teach us how near the true spirit of art is to Christianity.
When we see that one has lived on this earth in whom the
ideal of truth and love and goodness is made real, we may
well recognize that Christ's coming answers the soul's longing
by giving to it the type of a perfection toward which it is to
strive for ever and ever.
« There was a time when the world sneered at the possibility
of virtue in dramatic life, and by the sneer, and what went
with it, did its worst to make virtue impossible. But it has
been given to our generation to show, in lives among which
happily our noble townswoman does not stand alone, that a
pure spirit can go stainless, as the lady in Milton's ' Comus,'
through corruptions. In one of those solemn hours, when the
soul looks back on the past to read its lessons, she said, not
long before her death, to one for whom she could draw aside
the veil of her thoughts : * I have tried to live honestly ; I
have tried to show women that it was possible to live a pure,
noble life.' Let women and men be thankful that she suc-
ceeded greatly, that society is purer, that the tone of that
which has sometimes been one of the most demoralizing, and
which can be one of the most helpful publio influences, has
been elevated in no small degree by her example. One great
secret of the public power of that woman of genius, whose
memory is with you to-day, was, that she lived with the great
thoughts which she interpreted until they were her very self
and she was they. Those who knew her best, best knew how
the masters of thought were guests at home in her mind. It
was but a few hours before she died that she bade a friend
read to her the grand poen^ of * Columbus,' by one of our own
poets; and when in the dim light her friend fitiled to read some
words aright, the mind, clear and strong as ever, set her right
fh)m her unfailing memory. ....
'' What way shall I live 1 What shall I do 1 These are
292 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAK:
the questions which lie at the base of all true living, alike for
the peerless genius and for us alL The things which are
lovely must be imperishablj intertwined with those which
are true and honest, just and pure, for they come from Him
who is perfect beauty and perfect truth."
On the same day the Bev. Dr. Bartol preached a ser-
mon on the " Pulpit and the Stage," in which he brought
together the names of Charlotte Cushman and Horace
Bushnell. After contrasting the two in their different
and seemingly widely differing r61es, he proceeds to show
how they approximate in the motive which swayed them
in their separate avocations^ how they meet in the way
either was pursued.
^'Both Charlotte Cushman as an actress and Horace
Bushnell as a preacher cultivated the capacity of appro-
priating to themselves what they saw moral and lovely in
others^ and they reaped the proper fruit to nourish them-
selves and others.
** The heavenly grace and human strength were doubtless
fused together in both, and the stage, I think, should be more
proud of the conduct than even of the unmatched achieve-
ment of its American queen and pattern in every way. Was
aught left for her of the hag in Meg Merrilies, or of horror
in Dickens's Nancy Sykest The impersonation of these
parts was clear and sweet, in perfect balance, without one
gaping defect or eccentric fault. A bom princess, she was
native to command. A wave of influence, as from a magnetic
battery to a company holding hands, swept from her, and laid
on the thousands in the assembly she acted or read to one
hushing spelL She had what the French historian attributes
to C8Dsar, — charm. It was moral grandeur in and through
the artist's gift.
' What migesty ia in her gait f Remember
If e*er thoa look'dat on migetty.'
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIEa 293
And wboeyer listened to or conyersed with Charlotte Cushman
had a sense of something uhaffectedly imperial in her port
and style. With one comprehensive and swift-revolving glance
how she gathered her audience in ; with a single persuasive
smile how she melted them I Her magnificent presence
answering to the proportions of the largest buildings, her
cathedral voice, that could make of any hall a whispering-
gallery, all the instruments and tools of her art down to
the color on her face and neck, how masterly I But the irre-
proachable woman, the soul intangible with evil, the generous
nature, contributed how much ! Humanity responded to one
nnsurpassably humane. A true and quite un-Romish catholic,
she embraced all ; nothing in her race too low for her fellow-
ship or too high for her reach. She was of no creed or par-
ticular church, but a worshipper in every sanctuary, a sympa-
thizer with every votary, a believer in the divine unity, and a
hoper for immortality. Who may part or put asunder what
Qod hath joined together t She made the connection of genius
and virtue.
<< In my two illustrations of to-day, pulpit and stage, actor
and preacher, the power was as manifest as the skilL Both
had alike, not only in their mode of communication the circle
of beauty, but in the substance of demeanor the indomitable
and rectilinear will. The circle was so laige, it was the right
line of heaven and earth ; and to preachers and actors I com-
mend them as models which to copy is equally blessed and
safe. They alike united personal independence with the most
gracious salute. Stepping to the footlights to rebuke inso-
lence in the house, writing a public letter to resist philan-
thropic blackmail, insisting on justice to others as to herself be-
hind the scenes, a pattern of artists in every sort, — Miss Cush-
man showed always the resolution with which, when her voice
failed for music, she strode upon the stage. Conservative in
her stand, a lover of the old ways and solemn forms of wor-
ship, yet from any one taking a different position she claims
the honor due to her own unbounded tolerance, charity, and
294 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAN:
liberty of thought. So Dr. Bushnell, as a preacher, signalized
a singular consonance with our actor's unequivocal stamp ; as
in the labor of their several provinces and professions they
were alike untiring, and neither could carry off from the other
the palm, while in an obsequious, superficial, and dissipated
age both held the standard of courageous diligence aloft.
** To the soul, nothing is gona Love has no past Said to
me her nearest companion : * I must speak of Miss Cush-
man in the present tense.' Never more than in her was
expressed the power to live and be herself despite sickness
and distress. The whole of Charlotte Cushman could live and
act in the least remnant of her bodily strength. Eye and
voice are last to go ; they remain and haunt us still."
From the New York Tribune's obituaiy notice, in wbich
we recognize the effort of one of the most kindly, true-
hearted, and intelligent critics known to the press of this
country, — William Winter, — I select the following : —
^' There is something so awfully impressive in the vanishing
of a great genius and a great force of noble intellect and char-
acter out of this world, that reverence must pause before the
spectacle, no less in humanity than in sorrow. The historian
of our time will review many important and significant lives,
and will lay the laurel upon many a storied tomb ; but he will
honor no genius more stately or more singular than that which
now sleeps in the cofi&n of Charlotte Cushman. It is difficult,
if not impossible, at once to do justice to such a life. The
end, which came yesterday in Boston, though not unexpected,
was sudden ; and it comes upon the mind with a solemn force
that prompts to silent thought and fond remembrance more
than to words. The future will speak of Charlotte Cushman
with pride and gladness ; the present can only tell her story
in the quiet accents of grief.
'* Only twenty days ago, in her room at the Parker House,
Boston, she spoke with cheerful confidence of her anticipated
restoration to health. Her eyes were bright^ her voice was
HER LIFE, LETTEBS, AND MEMORIES. 295
firm, though suffused m every tone with an unconscious sad-
ness most deeply touching and quite indescribable, and her
noble countenance indicated such a vitality as it seemed im*
possible that death could conquer. To the last she was an
image of majesty. The pain that consumed her suffering
body could never quell her royal spirit. She could look
back upon a good life ; she was sustained by religious &ith ;
she felt upon her gray hair the spotless crown of honor ; she
met death as she had met life, a victor; and she has passed
from the world with all the radiance of her glory about her,
like sunset from a mountain peak, that vanishes at once into
the heavens.
** The greatness of Charlotte Cushman was that of an ex-
ceptional, because grand and striking personality, combined
with extraordinary power to embody the highest ideals of
majesty, pathos, and appalling anguish. She was not a great
actress merely, but she was a great woman. She did not
possess the dramatic flEU^ulty apart from other Acuities, and
conquer by that alone ; but having that fiumlty in almost un-
limited fubess, she poured forth through its channel such
resources of character, intellect, moral strength, soul, and per-
sonal magnetism as marked her for a genius of the first order,
while they made her an irresistible force in art When she
came upon the stage she filled it with the brilliant vitality of
her presence. Eveiy movement that she made was winningly
characteristic. Her least gesture was eloquence. Her voice,
which was soft or silvery, or deep or mellow, according as emotion
affected it, used now and then to tremble, and partly to break,
with tones that were pathetic beyond description. These were
denotements of the fiery soul that smouldered beneath her
grave exterior, and gave irridescence to every form of art
that she embodied. Sometimes her whole being seemed to
become petrified in a silent suspense, more thrilling than any
action, as if her imagination were suddenly inthralled by the
tumult and awe of its own vast perceptions.
''As an actress, Miss Cushman was best in tragedy, whether
296 CHABLOTTS CUSHlfAN:
lurid or pathetic, and in sombre melodrama. Theatrical his-
tory will probably associate her name more intimately with
Meg Merrilies than with any other character. This production
was unique. The art method by which it was projected was
peculiar in this, that it disregarded probability and addressed
itself to the imaginative perception. Miss Cushman could
giye free rein to her frenzy in this character, and that was
why she loved it and excelled in it, and was able by means of
it to reveal herself so amply and distinctly to the public mind.
What she thus revealed was a power of passionate emotion as
swift as the lightning and as wild as the gale, — an individ-
uality fraught with pathos, romance, tenderness, grandeur,
the deep knowledge of grief, and the royal strength of
endurance. Her Meg Merrilies was not her greatest work,
but it was her most startling and effective one, because it was
the sudden and brilliant illumination of her being. In deal-
ing with the conceptions of Shakespeare, Miss Cushman^s
spirit was the same, but her method was different. As Meg
Merrilies, she obeyed the law of her own nature ; as Queen
Eatherine, she obeyed the law of the poetic ideal that encom-
passed her. In that stately, sweet, and pathetic character,
and again, though to a less extent in the terrible yet tender
character of Lady Macbeth, both of which she apprehended
through an intellect always clear and an imagination always
adequate, the form and limitations prescribed by the dominant
genius of the poet were scrupulously respected. She made
Shakespeare real, but she never dragged him down to the
level of the actual She knew the heights of that wondrous
intuition and potent magnetism, and she lifted herself and her
hearers to their grand and beautiful eminence. Her best
achievements in the illustration of Shakespeare were accord-
ingly of the highest order of art. They were at once human
and poetic. They were white marble suffused with fire. They
thrilled the heart with emotion and passion, and they filled
the imagination with a thoroughly satisfying sense of beauty,
power, and completeness. They have made her illustrious.
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 297
They have done much to assert the possible grandeur and
beneficence of the stage, and to confirm it in the afifectionate
esteem of thoughtful men and women. They remain now as a
rich legacy in the remembrance of this generation, and they
will pass into history among the purest, highest, and most cher-
ished works that genius has inspired and art has accomplished
to adorn an age of culture and to elevate the human mind."
From the Boston Advertiser we select these few heart-
felt words : —
''Miss Cushman's death makes vacant a place in art which
there is no one to filL She won and held the highest honors
as an actress, but it is impossible to separate her life from her
art, or the woman from the actress. As she advanced in noble
acting she advanced in noble living ; and at the height of her
great artistic success she was so generous and magnificent a
woman that the noblest dramatic representation seemed only
her natural expression. On the stage and off she was essentially
the same, putting her heart and her power into whatever she
had to do. She was endowed with a strong and brilliant mind,
an unconquerable will, keen wit, and exquisite sense of humor.
To these were added a conscience that made her a severe stu-
dent, and energy that made her a tireless worker.
"Strong as she was physically, disease beset her with open or
insidious attacks, and her defence was long and heroic ; never
did human will or human frame sustain a more persistent siege,
never did they offer more gallant defence. Long after anybody
else would have yielded to pain she pursued her art, acting with
her accustomed power and with no fSEdtering. It helped her,
she said, to forget herself. All through the last weeks of her
life she has for a portion of every day received her friends, and
been the most gracious hostess, — never alluding to her health
unless asked, and then putting the subject aside as soon as
possible, and talking of the events of the day, of literature,
art, and people, with the warmest interest and the most
sparkling vivacity. Often she would pause, her fitce would
298 CHABLOTTB CUSHMAK :
flash or grow pale^ and pain would for a moment cloud her eyes
or make her shiver ; but not one word of it would she say, and
directly would go on in the old brave, cheerful way. It was
admirable, but infinitely touching. Miss Cushman possessed
in a remarkable degree the power of attaching women to her.
They loved her with utter devotion, and she repaid their love
with the wealth of her great warm heart ; young girls gave
her genuine hero-worship, which she received with a gracious
kindness, that neither encouraged the worship nor wounded
the worshipper ; mature women loved and trusted her wholly
to the last hour of her life. She had the perfect service of the
purest friendship, and beyond that, numbers of noble women
waiting to ^ve and receive imfailing sympathy and affection.
Miss Gushman's triumphs have been great ; but the greatest
of these was the character that won such friends. Laurels for
the actress will lie thick upon her grave, but they will be wet
with the tears of those who mourn for the loving friend, the
heroic woman.^
The New York Evening Post enshrines her memory in
words " fit though few.**
" All lovers of the dramatic art will be pained to learn that
one of its greatest interpreters in the present era, Charlotte
Cushman, has passed away ; and their sorrow will be shared
by every man and woman who reveres high purpose and in-
domitable force of will for its own sake.
'' Charlotte Cushman was something more than a remark-
able actress; her public career was merely the mirror in
which the strong features of her private character appeared as
reflected images; and many a fainting spirit has doubtless
drawn fresh strength from her example as a woman, to whom
the privilege of witnessing her impersonations on the stage
has been denied.
" Her native virtues will keep her memory fragrant, and
coming generations will know her as one who carried a lofty
ideal in her mind, and lived up to it ; who never sacrificed
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AJH) MEMORIES. 299
principle to gain ; whose &ith in God and herself yielded not
under the weight of many years and discouraging vicissitudes,
and who has left as a legacy to her multitude of friends a
reputation free from those moral blemishes which too often
accompany intellectual eminence."
Miss Cushman's neighbor and warm friend, Mr. George
H. Calvert of Newport, lays this tribute upon her tomb : —
'* The death of Miss Cushman leaves a throne empty in his-
trionic art, and at the same time makes a deep gloomy chasm
in a very wide circle of friendship. To be at once admired,
esteemed, honored, and beloved, is a rare fortune for one indi-
vidual ; it denotes an abundant and gifted organization. The
high-souled, commanding queen on the stage was in private
most affectionate, most tender, most sympathetic.
*' Out of the richness of her nature came the manifold sym-
pathies that made her so great in public, so warmly welcome,
so devotedly cherished, in private. How animating, how
cheering, to see her enter a room ! Her presence was an im-
pulsion to the best wheels of one's mind. It was at once an
invitation and a stimulant, — that powerful countenance in
which was the beauty of nobleness and intellectual superior-
ity I Her talk, like her life, moved on a high plane ; petty
things and offences, touched upon for their significance, were
too small for the strong, dean grasp of her mind. Doing noble,
generous acts herself, she liked to talk of others who had done
them, and she had a quick insight into pretenders and sophists.
" Capable, and aiming to seize principles, she readily en-
gaged in discussion of them, whether political, ethical, or »8-
thetic. With great capacity and fluency of talk, she was a
good listener, and had an open ear for wit and frm. The
hearty ring of her laugh will long be a pleasant memory to
her frienda The circle of her friends was unusually wide and
various, her large soul had room for so much ; and such was its
truth and fidelity and fascination, that the nearer you came to
her the dearer she was; those loved her most who knew her best.
300 CHABLOTTE CUSHHAN :
Of the chief mourners for her loss, it is a precious privilege
that to them it is given to shed the warmest tears for such a
being. In their memory she will dwell a beneficent presence,
and in their hearts a purifying love, ever dropping balm in
regrets."
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe writes to the " Woman's Jour-
nal":—
'' The curtain drops upon a vanished majesty. One who
trod the boards in all the queendom of the drama will do so
no more. Sorrow rises up between us and the vision of hours
consumed with the high interest of classic personations.
Thespis is perhaps the most pathetic of the muses, when she
is pathetic. She cannot stay to mourn, but gathers up her
trailing robes and hides her tears behind the mask of Fancy.
But she and her ministers should have been sad at heart on
the day when a name so honored and so dear as that of Char-
lotte Cushman was answered on the roll-call by the silence of
death.
" The question here arises, — Is it a true migesty, that of the
stage t Is it a poor mimic and mockery of the migesty which
dwells in palaces and commands the ministry of art instead of
furnishing it % We should say, on the contrary, that, as the
representative of human fate and feeling, the majesty of the
drama has a grandeur and a permanence which that of the pal-
ace only attains by rare and unaccustomed merit The gran-
deur of a human life is such that adventitious circumstances
do not really heighten it, though to our short-sighted gaze they
seem to do so. Theories of society have changed since Shakes-
peare^s day, and we of to-day may be inclined to alter a word
in his well-known line and say, —
* There 'a a vulgarity doth hedge a king,* —
the vulgarity of adulation, which the sincerer public of the
theatre cannot offer, because nature will not allow it to do so.
No ffisthetic crown is loftier than that of the artist who has
HER LIFE, LETTERS, AND MEMORIES. 301
worthily walked in this true majesty of life upon the scene,
reoeiying at every step the tribute of grateful and admiring
hearts.
<< Our friend had this true crowning. When we recall her
form and action, we must rehearse the lines of Elizabeth
Browning : —
' Jnno^ where la now the ^ry
Of thy regal port and tread t
Will they lay, forerermore, thee
In thy strait, low, golden bed t
Will thy qaeendom all lie hid
Meekly under either lid ? ' *
But the crown of all crowns is that of eKarader^ and in this
respect our friend's record does not belie her broad brow and
generous smile. Laborious, fitithful, affectionate, tender, her
daily life fulfilled all that her art-prophecies promised. Rich
were they who dwelt within the cordial influence of her words
and acts. Bright and sunny was the home which her pres-
ence illuminated. Distant friends turned towards her with
loving memory, and those who needed and deserved friendship
found it in her.
''So let our tributes to her memory be Ktanri tribuUs alL
She loved much, served much, earned by hard work a noble
reputation, and has left an example in which her race is
enriched."
On behalf of the profession, of which he is an esteemed
member, Mr. Lawrence Barrett has recorded in a few
fervent words this "Tribute to Charlotte Cushman's
Memory": —
''Charlotte Cushman is dead. Before the shock of this
news has passed away it cannot be improper to recall to her
professional brethren the great loss we sustain by this sudden
departure. After a long life of toil, laden with years and
honors, she sleeps at last. That crown which she has worn
for so many years undisputed now lies upon a coffin beside
which a whole nation will mourn. The world contained no
302 CHABLOTTE CU8HMAN:
greater spirit, no noUer woman. Her genius filled the world
with admiration, and the profession which she adorned and
ruled must long await her successor. This is not the place,
nor is mine the pen, to write her history ; larger space and
abler hands will see that duty performed. These lines are
traced by one who loved her living and weeps for her now
dead. Her career is an incentive and an example to all the
workers in our noble art. A woman of genius, industrious
and religious, her best education was obtained within the cir-
cle of her calling. Almost masculine in manner, there was
yet a gentleness in her which only her intimates could know.
The voice which crooned the lullaby of the Bertrams so touch-
ingly came from a heart as gentle as infancy. To all who
labor in the realms of art, and to my profession most espe-
cially, the loss of this day will be a severe ona Bigotry itself
must stand abashed before the life of our dead queen, whose
every thought and act were given for years to an art which
ignorance and envy have battled against in vain for centuries.
To her, our queen, we say, * Peace and fieurewell 1 ' We shall
not look upon her like again.
''Lawbbnob Barbbtt.
«'Nbw Yowc, Febmaiy 18, 1876."
These are but a few of the public expressions of univer-
sal regret and admiration; private utterances to the same
effect were many and heartfelt We may fitly close our
record with this tender and touching tribute firom her
friend, H. H.
CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.
Bnt yesterday it wu. Long yean ago
It seems. The world so altered looks to^laj
That, jooraeying idly with my thoughts astray,
I gazed where rose one lofty peak of snow
Abore grand tiers on tiers of peaks below.
One moment brief it shone, then sank away,
As swift we reached a point where foot-hiUs lay
HEB LIFE, LEITEBS, AJSD MEMOBIE& 303
So near they aeemed like monnteizis huge to grow
And touch the sky. That instant, idly stilly
My eye fell on a printed line, and read
Incredulous, with sudden anguished thrill,
The name of this great queen among the dead.
I raised my eyes. The dusty foot-hills near
Had gone. Again the snowy peak shone dear.
II.
thou heloved woman, soul and heart
And life, thou standest unapproached and grand.
As still that glorious snowy peak doth stand.
The dusty barrier our clumsy art
In terror hath called Death holds thee apart
From us. 'T is but the low foot-hill of sand
Which bars our vision in a mountain-land.
One moment fSuther on, and we shall start
With speechless Joy to find that we have passed
The dusky mound which shut us from the light
Of thy great love, still quick and warm and fast,
Of thy great strengths, heroically cast.
Of thy great soul, still glowing puro and white.
Of thy great life, still panaelesa, full, and blight I
^.^.^1!^><-,
INDEX.
"Admtivr," Bonon, cUtiui? aottn of
Ula Ciubmu, 297.
I, Ful, iHcilptkin or P>c«'i portnlt
Bufcil, Bar, Dr., *iti*oM from hli Mimati
oo"TtwPalpl(>iidtb(Btic*i" 39I-2BT.
BibUt, Aivsrta, iDtHMt of, iB Wa Onih-
nui'i tdncstloD, U.
BitiUt hmUr, ttateh <if, B.
BuTitt, lAwnm, awiniait of, to ut «1U|
tdiemnpuij.ltt; ferlbnta to HlM Oialk'
"BahlDdUMtcgiw," UE, UT, IK.
B«]lDwi, BrT. RsDTT W., eormpondinM
nliUn Id donMlaiu to Sanltuj Ocminl*-
■kii>,lB6-lS7.
B1a«d«, Wm Im, 12, US.
2S8 1 lut iiipcanin in,
B«(on, flinwall pCT(bniiiHUC1n,971-27S.
Bonrrj ThMtn, burning af. ST.
BTAdfbnl ^GoTvnKir , ftiondiliiit of, wltli Goih-
Cuihibuj lb 1020, 8.
Brfuti, PhDUpflp optolon of diimfttio rwd-
tD(,aM.
Brown, Dr. John, 12T.
BmimlDi, Un., 170-
BrovolDg, Robgrt, qnotstloa from " Pu*-
i»lnu,'>lS; •■Bwil,"iaT.
Brownlnp, tl», IK, US.
Brrut, nillkm Cnllfln, 2G9, 96S.
Bode (Englud), dwcrlption of, 309.
" Bnahle," 121 - 1», lae, 13T.
Bulmell, It«T. Honca. pusUet bttwNB hk
TiuhiiiHi'a, SSS- 2ST.
Cllnrt, Qtatgt H., trflmto to Wb Oub-
Cunpafu dl Roiu.daHrlptlni cil; ISl - UT.
Carijta, Thomu, 84, 8[>.
Culf]*, Hn., 84, 86, IflO.
Cbull;, ■mnuwabla mqiiMi In c*dh of,
eommontod on br UlH Ciuhmu , lU - IGT.
Childhood, roeordi of His Gmhmui'i, IS-
IS.
Ohlldnm, har lora of, 170 • ITS.
Ohorlar, Hamj V., Istun ftiim,tS-n,M,
lOO) plajwiltMabj.TD.Sl.
ObilfBDU MtMi and (lit*, ire - ni.
306
INDEX.
ClimAto, Boman, lis tOMt on hmiih, ITS-
174.
01oMl,MftduiM,28.
** Colnmbof," Um poem of; 28^
Cook, BUM Eli», 87.
Crow, Miaf , her marriage to S. 0. Onahman,
182.
Cnahman, Ohariotte, birth, ancestry, and
flunily,8-12. Early reeoUeedonB, 12-15,
19-22. FIrrt performanoe of Lady Mac-
beth, 22. Engagement at Bowery Theatre,
86,27; 'at Park Theatre, 81, 82. Onboard
the " Oarrick/' 89-44. In Scotland, 44.
Vint London engagement* 46 > 68. Letters
from Miss Coahman, 47-60. ^r ear*
nestness, 56, 240. The Coshman sisters
as Romeo and Jnliet, 68-60. Comments
of the press, 60-63. In Dablin, 64 -67 ;
8wit»rland,69. Letters to a young friend,
79-88. InBome,91. Page's portrait, 82.
In England — iettw to Blrs. Mospratt on
death of her child, 94. The London home,
96* Throngh the prorinces, 98* In Borne
~flrst acquaintance with Bliss Btebbina,
100. Personal appearance, 101,102. Kind-
nsss and beneTolence of, 108-195, 146,
147. Blosical ability, 185-106. The apart-
ments in Borne, 112-116. Letters from
Hiss Peabody, 189. Incident at BIcTlck-
er's Theatre, 146, 147. Meg Merrilies,
147-162. Letter upon charities, 166.
Death of Blrs. Mospratt, 160. Bust by
Miss Btebbtns, 161. Letters from Eng-
land, 168-166. Letter from Paris, 166.
EuJoyment of French stage, 168, 169.
Lore of children, 170-172. Beligloas
Tlew«, 177-181 Interest in Sanitary
Commission, 186 -187. Letters from Borne,
192 - 196. Death of Mr*. Cushman, aO&
First appearance of malady, 229. Adrice
of physicians, 280. Retnm to America,
282. Letter on dedication of the Cnshman
School, 287. Engagement at Booth's
Theatre, N. T., 287, 241, 243. Western
tonr, 24a Reading at NarraganseU, 244.
Illness at the Sonth, 246. Letters from
Newport, 246-261. Letters from tha
West, 262-265. Farewell to New York,
268-265. Farewell to Philadelphia, 266-
867. Readings— illness in Cincinnati, 267.
Farewell to Boston, 271-276. Last win-
ter in Boston, 277. Letters from Parker
House, Boston, 279-284. Death, 284.
Funeral ceremonies, 286, 286.
Cushman, Klkanah, 7.
Cushman, Blrs., death of, 208.
Cnshman, Robert, 2-6.
Cushman, Susan, letter relating to, 86 ; acts
with bar sbter, 68-60, 68; marries Dr.
Muspratt, 66, 90 ; death of her child, 94,
96 ; iUness and death of, 160.
Cnshman, Thomas, 6, 6.
Cushman School, the, 287-241
Dante, LongfUlow's translation of, 198.
Death and burial. Bliss Cu8hman*s, 284 - 2861
Dickens, Charles, 164.
Dism>polntnMnt in early life, letter xdbr-
rlngto,182-184.
Dramatic characters, principal, perftnmed
by Miss Coshman—Bianea, 61-58; Mrs.
Hallar, 86, 88 ; Hamlet, 216, 817 ; Lady
Macbeth, 28, 85, 815; Meg Merrilies, 78,
148-158; Nancy Sykes, 154; Queen
Katharine, 71, 78, 815; Bomeo, 68-68;
RosaUnd,64-6a
Dramatic readings, 811. "King Henry
ynL/'813; "Blacbeth,"216; *' Lady of
Shalott," 819; ** Skeleton hi Annor,"
880 ; " Battle of iTry," 221 ; Brownhig's
poems, 222-228; "Death of the Old
Squire," 284, 226k BamartraMe sueeesses,
286,248,245,246.
Dublin, her engagement tiwre, 66-67.
DudcTant, Madame Aurore. 5^ George
Band.
Earnestness, tha aaent of MIsb Cuahman's
success, 66, 240.
England, fcellng in« ai to ivw In Amaifca,
16&
"ETenldk Post" (New York), oUtany no-
tice of Miss Cushman hi, 898.
Farewell appeafaaesa, ezplaaatlon of, 888.
Ikoeit, BUSS Helen, 46, 64, HO.
** Fasio," MOman's, lOss Cuahman's acting
hi, 61-68.
Fields, James T., 847.
Foots, Ber. Chariea, ssmMtt on dsath. of
Miss Cushman. 888.
Forrest, Edwin, 4a
Foz-huntiog, 1889 188.
** Oarrick," Toyage hi the, 89- 44.
Ctonealogloal reoorda of Cuahman ftmUy,
1-7.
OUberi, John, Tlsit from, at Newport, 860,
26L
Girlhood, reeorda of Bliss Cushman's,
12-ia
Gounod, sacred songs by, 106.
Greenwood, Grace, trarels with, in Italy, 01.
Grattan, Thomas Colley, letters from,
88-87 ; work on America by,86.
Gutekunst, photograph by, 98.
INDEX.
307
Handel and Haydn Sodetj, HIn Cosh-
man'8 bust preMnted to, 16L
HaiTOwgate, a summer in, 196, 197.
H U., poem on death of Min Gushman bj,
SOL
Hoamer, Miss Harriet| UIm Ouahman
Tlaita Rome with, 9L
Howe, Mrs. Julia Ward, tribute to SDai
Coshman by, 800.
Illness, final, 281 - 2S5.
Ingelow, Jean, her poons, I9T.
Iritfh songs, 106, 107 ; storiee, M-68w
Italian servants, 116-118.
Jackson, Mrs. Helen Hunt. &< H. H.
Jtfwsbury, Bliss, letters from, 74-78.
Kemble, Charles, 88.
King^B Chapel, chosen ibr her obseqniea,
281; ftineral senrlce and sermon in, 286.
288-292.
Enowles, James fliMn-MAw, big opinion of
MiiB Cnshman's acting, ^
Lady Macbeth, itrst p et tounan ea e<; 22.
Lanier, Sidney, poems addwssed to SUn
Cnshman, 268, 269.
Lardner, Dr., eorreepondenoe with, 88.
Lenox, Mass., her home in, 276.
Lincoln, Abraham, 195, 196.
Uppinoott, Mr*. S$e Oiaee Orsenwood*
London, her success in, 87-88; home in,
96.
LonglbUow, Henzy W., extraet ftmn ** Hy-
perion," 48; translation of Dante, 198;
** Skeleton in Armor/' 220.
Lorer, Samuel, comic song by, 106.
Lowell, James Bnssell, poem of '* Colum-
bus," 284.
Macbeth, Lady, seleeted Ibr Miss Gushman's
d^bat as actress, 22.
Bfocdonald, George, meeting^ with, in Eng-
land. 209; his opinion of dramatle zaad-
Ing,246,247.
Maeready» William, acts with Miss Gush-
man, 80, 82 ; iuTites her to aet In Paris,
45 ; his fluewell benefit, 78.
Maeder, James O., Instraetor of Miss Gush-
man in ringing, 22.
Mahrem, a IkTorite resort, 76.
Blarcy, Ooremor, 28.
Bfarryatt, Captain, friendship fbtWm Gush-
man, 29, 80.
Mathieu, Wllhehn, his works purchased by
Miss Cnshman Ibr Music Hall, 206.
*'Mayflower,"the,8k4.
McVicker's Chicago Theatre, presentation
of testimonial to Miss Gushman by pcr-
ibrmers, 146, 147.
Mercer, SoUie, chaxacter of, 87-89; econo-
mies of, 45 ; her oave of Miss Gushman,
286.
Mount Auburn, monument to be erected in,
281 ; purchase of plot in, 281.
Moourt, his bust by Mathieu, 206.
Music Hall, inauguration of organ, 188;
presentation of brackets and busts, 204-
208.
Muspratt, Ida, letter on death of, 84, 86.
Muspratt, Dr. J. Sheridan, 68, 90.
Mnspratt, Mrs. Ste Cnshman, Susan.
Needlework, Miss Cushman's dislike of, 13.
Mew HaTen, reading in, 285.
New Orieans, engagement in, in 1860, 91 ;
Tisit to, 161 ; iUness hi, 246.
Newport, her home in, 284, 251.
Newport Hoepital, reading in aid of, 244.
New York, first arrival in, 26; burning of
Bowery Theatre, 27 ; engagement in Park
Theatre, 29, 88 ; performance for Sanitary
Fund, 187; readings in, 288; flovweJ
engagement in, 266 ; OTstion, 268 - 266w
Nonconformist, Bobert Cnshman a, 2.
Ogden, Wm. B., 248, 251.
Ohio, tniTelllng adTenturoi at Springfield
and Urbana, 258; letter flrom Toledo,
264.
'* OtheUo," Miss Gushman ptays " KniUa "
in, 81.
Paddon, John, her teacher of ringing, 19.
Page, W. , his portrait of Miss Gushman, 92.
Paget, Sir James, 229, 280.
Palestrina, his bust by Mathieu, 206.
Paris. Tirits to, 88, 166, 168.
Parker House, reridenoe in, 279 - 284.
Parker, Theodore, his Tirit to Rome, 160.
Peabody, lilss Elisabeth, reminiscences <^
Miss Cnshman, 189 - 142.
Personal ^>pearance, comments on her, 58,
92, 101, 102 ; on stage, 89, 151, 152.
Peti, Miss Cnshman's, 121-181.
Philadelphia, ikrewell performance hi,
265-267.
Photographt Miss Gnihman's,by Gutekunst,
92.
Pius IX., 190,191.
Queen Katharine, a ihTorite x6Ie, 71, 78, 212,
216.
Ristori, Madame, acquaintance with. In
Italy, 97 ; meeting with hi Boston, 270, 271.
Rogers, Samuel, 67.
308
INDEX.
Boman eUmate, 172 - 176.
Romui ■odffty, 176, 189.
Rome, MIm CiuhiDfta'f home in, 112, 181.
Saad, G«<xge, MIm duhmui'i ■dmlfrtmi
OC169.
Sftoitory Fond, domtion to, 186- 187.
Sanndert, MIm Charlotte, 10.
School-daja, 16.
Scotland, timT^ In, 44.
Seward, Min Fanny, 189; death of, 201;
letters from MIm Cnihman to, 196, 200.
Sewaid, WUUam A. , Tiilt to, In 1861, 162 ; the
attempt on hb Ulb,200; letter from IQai
Gnahman to, 201.
Bhakeapeare, 84, 62, 189, 216, 218, 260.
" Sheltering Arme,*^ Sode^ of the, Ml«
Coihman^s correepondence with, 167, 168.
Shepherd, R. B., aide Min Cnahman^s mn-
•loal education, 19 ; meets her in 1868, 161.
Slme, Dr. Bfarion, ooninltatlcQ with, in
Parle, 229.
Simpeon, Sir Jamee, 280.
Singer, Mies Cnshman^s first appeamaoe ai
public, 22 ; loes of Tolee, 22.
Sodetgr in Rome, mixed character of, 175>
SomerrlUe, Mrs., rislt Co, 177.
Spence, Dr., 280.
*« Spiridion,*' exponent of Qeorge Sandys
religious Tlews, 109.
Stebbhtf , Miss, first meeting with, 100 ; bust
of Ifflis Cushman by, 161.
Stage ooetnme. Miss Coahman't great iUll
in, 161, 162.
St. Iionis, memorials preeerved there, 168 ;
Tisit to, in 1861, 161.
Stoddard, Richard H., ode to Miss Cushmaa
by,260.262.
Sully *8 portrait of Miss Cushman, 98.
Switaerland, Tisit to, 69.
TiUbnrd, Thomas N., admlretJon of her
acting, 49.
Tennyaon, Alfred, 190.
Tremont Theatre, Miss Ooahmaa's flnt ^-
pearance in, 22.
TroUope, Mrs., 70.
Walee, tvatels throng, 160.
Wallack, James, acts with Miss Cushman, 88.
War, excitement among Americana in Rome
during, 16B, 176.
Ware, Rer. Henry, anecdote concerning, 14.
Washington, Tirit to, hi 1861, 162.
Water-cure, Mies Cushman makes trial of»
266.
Whittler, John 6., his poems, 199.
Wight, Isle of; her Imp re esions of, 16i
Winter, William, ex|danation of her fitf»>
wells to the stage, 288 ; obituary notice of
Mies Cushman by, 294-297.
** Woman's JoumaL" fits Howe, Julia
Ward.
Wood, Mn. M. A., sings with Miss Cush-
man, 20 ; adrises her to go on the etage,
20 ; letter from, 21.
Woodward fronily, remarkable muskal abil-
ity of, 19.
Woolson, Miss, letter from, r e sp ec tin g " Ken-
tnoky Belle," 227.
Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Ca
>